


The lies we tell ourselves

by Siff



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: "Like all the time", "and Anatole being a clueless moron", Alternate Universe - Boarding School, At least not in this one, Consensual Underage Sex, Everyone is an idiot, F/F, F/M, Fedya is angsty, Helene deserves better, I still dont know who this nicolai is, M/M, Underage Drinking, Violence, anatole is dramatic as hell, btw i have no idea which nicolai is in this, fedya and anatole is not good together, just FYI, kids being stupid, like really, look! I finished a story!, no clue, okay ill stop now, or the plot is merely "fedya being angsty", slut shaming is for loosers, so angsty, so does Pierre, sorry buddy, this story has very little plot, woop!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siff/pseuds/Siff
Summary: Boarding School AU.At a remote school, Fedya lives in a world revolving around drinking, sex and Anatole. The boy is his life, but when Natasha one day arrives, Fedya thinks he will lose it all.And he does.
Relationships: Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova, Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina/Sofia "Sonya" Alexandrovna Rostova, Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin, Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina, Pyotr "Pierre" Kirillovich Bezukhov/Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina
Comments: 14
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so way back in October 2018, I was mad busy. I only had two hours during the day where I wasn't at school, work or sleeping, and I used it to write this monster. Don't remember much from it. All I know is, I fell in love with the musical and started writing. I finished it in two weeks but didn't feel like it was worth posting since it's so bat shit insane.
> 
> This story barely has a plot. It's full of angsty teenagers making drama when drama is really not needed. There are recognizable elements from the original story, but everything else is just pure craziness.
> 
> I have no idea if anyone will like it, but here it is.

The clanging sound of swords and the loud buzzer as their tips hit a mark was too loud.

Fedya groaned and placed an arm over his eyes, shielding them from the light. The sounds he couldn’t do anything for.

“Better look,” said Hélène and ran her fingers through his hair, “or he will get annoyed.”

“Fuck him and his training,” muttered Fedya but lifted his arm enough to peek out. From high on the spectator’s seats, he had a full view of the entire hall. Wooden floors, wooden walls, and an upcurved wooden ceiling. It looked ancient, and it was. The prided training hall of the school was one of the oldest buildings on the ground. The walls had the date painted in blue, along with pictures of athletes and the school crest.

There was all too much school spirit in one room and it made Fedya’s nausea worse. It wasn’t helping either that the fencing team was training and Anatole had begged – pestered more like – him and Hélène to watch him. He liked that. Being watched, and Fedya had to admit it appealed to him.

He was a good fencer, and an elegant one. He did it like it was a dance, a game he had been born into, and it was indeed worth watching. And while Fedya normally enjoyed doing so – Anatole sweaty and grinning always did it for him – he was just too hungover for this.

Hadn’t Hélène pulled him down to lie his head on her lap and stroked her skilled fingers through his hair, he might have left. Or vomited. But her clever fingers eased the tension in his skull enough for him to stay. For now.

Fedya looked down at Anatole who was on the defense, being pushed back by Peter, his team captain, who despite gaining ground was sweating and his arm was beginning to shake.

“Stop playing, you idiot, and finish him!” Fedya yelled, wincing as it made his eyes throb with pain. “I’m not sitting here all night.”

On the floor, Anatole gave him a quick look, his smile growing into a full-blown grin. “You’re lying down not sitting!” he called back, but then changed tactic and attacked Peter.

Fedya sighed and let his arm fall on his eyes again. “Same difference,” he muttered.

Hélène chuckled and twirled his hair between her fingers. “If he makes you wait too long, you can always punish him later.”

“I’m too hungover to get it up,” Fedya said and then yelped as a hand grabbed his crotch. He sat up and pushed her hand away from him. “Fucking hell!”

Hélène looked too innocent when he glared at her. She was still dressed in her uniform – with all the alterations she could get away with, like the too-short skirt and the heels on shining black shoes – and she played with the buttons on her shirt, opening one so more of her already exposed chest was shown. It didn’t fit the innocence she tried to pass off, but it worked like it always did. Fedya hated to admit it, but the sight of her like this melted his anger away. She looked beautiful and luring as always.

But he had been right. His hangover was winning this time and he fell back down unto her lap. “I’ll remember that.”

“You can punish me too.” She licked her lips suggestively and Fedya gave her a smile before shielding his eyes again.

Hélène played with his hair a bit before sliding her hand down his shirt, stroking his chest. It was meant to arouse, he knew, but it only made him drowsy.

He might even have fallen asleep if a loud _clang_ didn’t sound too near his ear, making him open his eyes. Anatole was kneeling on the seats a level below theirs, grinning as sweat ran down his cheeks. “I beat him! Did you see?”

“Of course, brother dear,” said Hélène and studied her nails. “Marvelously done.”

Anatole frowned at her, and then looked at Fedya. “You didn’t look.”

“It was you who wanted to do shots,” said Fedya and closed his eyes again. The memory of the pink drink Anatole had given him almost made the nausea return. “You can only blame yourself.”

“Oh yeah,” said Anatole, like he only now remembered. Another hand, larger and a bit callused, though just as warm, joined Hélène’s under his shirt, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“We must make it up to each other,” said Anatole and leaned in until Fedya could feel the warmth radiating off him.

“You stink,” he said, a bit breathless as both hands began to draw patterns across his chest and run down his stomach.

“You like it,” whispered Anatole and pressed his lips against Fedya’s neck.

“Anatole!” came a call from the floor. “Come help pack up.”

Anatole sighed and removed his lips and hands from Fedya. “When the school is so rich, why don’t they get some servants,” he grumbled and disappeared.

“Spoiled brat!” Fedya yelled after him and laughed when he got a _fuck you_ back.

They waited for him outside the men’s locker room, and when he emerged, with damp hair and shirt, he was quick to step up to Fedya and kiss him on the lips. “Missed me?”

“Hardly,” Fedya said and pushed him away. His head had gotten a bit better and with it his mood. Hélène was busy typing away on her cellphone to take notice of them. “Was that the last training night for this week?”

Anatole hoisted his bag up onto his shoulder. “Indeed! Weekend, here I come.”

“Great, let’s go then.” Fedya threw an arm around his shoulders and grabbed Hélène’s wrist with the other. “I need a drink.”

“Ah, the fight-evil-with-evil tactic. I approve!” said Anatole as they left the through the doors leading to the rest of the school. The wooden structure gave away to stone, and the air became a bit colder.

“You better,” said Fedya. “You’re buying.”

“Unfair!”

“Such is life.”

“Boys,” said Hélène and held up the phone, showing them the screen. “Balaga says we can come by tonight.”

Anatole and Fedya looked at each other, both grinning. “Party’s on then.”

~*~

Fedya was aware of his position.

Coming from a background with no titles or noble blood, someone like him would normally never step a foot unto the school’s ground. If it hadn’t been for his father’s good name in the military, he would probably still be running around the streets of his home, trying to stay out of the local gang’s way.

But his father had opened the doors to something better. Many former students of this school now had high ranking seats in either the government or the business world, or in the military. The latter all knew his father and had, therefore, made sure someone like Fedya could attend the best private school in the land.

Too bad it took his father’s death for it to happen.

He knew he should be thankful and work hard, but life wasn’t that simple. He wasn’t really the thankful type. And honestly, how could he ever change himself when his closest friends were hellbent of breaking every school rule before they graduated, and making very good progress of it.

The Kuragin twins were some of the riches at school and their name carried more power than most.

Anatole, handsome and carefree to a dangerous degree, behaved like the school was his kingdom, only obeying rules when they suited him, which was almost never. With his charm and good looks, he had almost every teacher eating from his hand. When that didn’t work, he used his surprisingly sharp mind to talk his way out of the trouble he caused. If somehow that didn’t work, his father’s money did the trick just fine.

It was lucky his father was rich, for he got bored easily and that always meant trouble.

Hélène had another approach to life at school. She fucked her way through it. Students, teachers, all were fair game with her. She wasn’t shy about what she wanted and she usually got it. Fedya had to admire her. His taste was much more specific.

Slut, some students called her, and Helene wore the title with pride if not slightly boredom at the unoriginality.

“Slut, whore, who cares?” she usually said when someone mentioned it to her. “As soon as I graduate, my father will have a bunch of men ready for me to choose a husband from. None of them will have any skills if I know Father right, so I better get my pleasure while I can.” She always followed this up by drinking whatever was in her hand, and kissing whoever was nearest; boy or girl.

Yes, Fedya had perhaps not chosen the wisest of company.

He had no name or rich family to keep him out of trouble, so he had to be extra careful. And that meant not being discovered. Whatever trouble the twins wanted to pull him into, he went willingly. He just had to cover his tracks and had gotten quite well at it after a few years.

It also helped he was a damn good shot.

The school’s archery club had thankfully quickly seen his potential, and he was now, with no small amount of pride, the best shot in the club. For now, that held the suspicion he knew his teachers had about him at bay.

Still, had he been a slightly more sensible person, he would have returned to his room after Anatole’s practice and prepare for the following week's schoolwork. But he wasn’t, so to hell with it.

It was Friday, both twins were free for the night, and Balaga was waiting for them.

~*~

Balaga was probably the most well-known secret of the school.

The man was a sort of caretaker, driver, and groundskeeper all rolled up into one. For the students – and most of the teachers – he was the center of a black market. If you had the money, Balaga could get anything for you.

Alcohol, cigarettes, magazines, clothes – Balaga could provide it. Which was good, since the nearest town was a good three hours away by car, and the rich kid students weren’t used to not having their choice of fix.

Fedya had always liked the man. Looking nothing short of homeless with his wild beard, and clothes that seemed to belong in another century, the man had a carefree way of looking at life. He had once told Fedya he didn’t really need the money his deals earned him since the school paid him more than enough. He just like the game.

“And I like them,” he had once said, swinging a bottle of vodka and nodding towards a few students who had just received their order. “They need someone like me or the winter craze will take them.” He wriggled his fingers in the air around his temple to emphasize.

Balaga saw himself as a friend and maybe even savior of the students, and lived high on it. Those especially lucky were sometimes allowed into the cluster of rooms located in the furthest part of the castle – it was drafty and had probably served as a prison many years ago and was therefore deemed unsafe for everyday school life – where Balaga had made a… the word most fitting would be club. Balaga had made a club, and only those he liked the best, his _fine, fine gentlemen_ were allowed in.

Fedya and the twins were amongst those.

So, whenever the opportunity arose, they ventured to that part of the school, hoping a good night awaited them. They were very rarely disappointed. Especially not this night.

Some students had beat them to it. Most were drinking, lounging around in the chairs and couched Balaga had somehow managed to get, while others were smoking. A few were making out, and a couple was going at it in a corner.

“See this a party,” said Fedya and looked around. He recognized several faces and nodded to a few. Tomorrow, they wouldn’t even look at him, being lowborn as he was, but now, in here, they were all the same and treated each other as such.

“I’ll get the drinks,” said Anatole, grinning like a kid on the playground. “Find us somewhere to sit.”

Hélène led the way, finding an old couch where she flopped down, pulling Fedya along by a grip on his shirt. He lost his balance and ended up between her legs, face almost between her breasts.

“Hmm, still too hungover?” she purred and ran her hand through his hair, before gripping it hard. He hissed but let her pull him up into a kiss.

He sunk into it, pressing down unto her and placing his hands on her hips. She kissed like always, messy and hot, and he gave back the best he could until the loud sound of bottles clinking together made them draw apart.

“Drinks first, guys,” said Anatole, holding two bottles of vodka. Fedya grinned, sitting up and scooting away from Hélène to make room enough for Anatole to drop down between them. He immediately leaned back against his sister, who drew her arms around him in a way that could hardly be prober for siblings, but in here, no one really cared.

Anatole handed Fedya one bottle and gave the other to his sister.

“To another night in this boring old place,” Fedya said and took a swig from the bottle. The vodka burned all the down and he closed his eyes at the familiar feeling. He sighed. “Best medicine in the world.”

“Almost,” said Hélène and ran her hand down Anatole’s chest, just like she had done Fedya back in the training hall. “Brink, brother dearest.”

“As you command,” Anatole smiled and let her pour vodka into his mouth. They looked at each other, suddenly caught up in their own little world.

They did this sometimes. Got caught up in each other, and the rest of the school disappeared around them. It was usually in everyone's interest that Fedya somehow broke them out of their little spell before they crossed some line that really shouldn’t be crossed in public. Or at all. Perhaps. Fedya didn’t really care.

He took another swig of vodka, trying to wash away that lie. He cared, just not about what he should. They could stare at each other all they wanted, touch, kiss, he didn’t care that it was wrong; but he didn’t like how lonely it sometimes made him feel.

The twins kept staring at each other, one dark, the other fair, and Fedya felt an invisible barrier appear between him and them. He decided, like he always did, that vodka was the best way to fight the feeling that suddenly threatened to undo him.

He didn’t drink for long, however, before the door opened and another student entered the club. Fedya lowered the bottle from his lips, barely able to believe his eyes.

“Anatole,” he said and reached blindly for the twins, not caring whose arm he slapped to get their attention. “Look at that.”

“How the hell did he get in,” muttered Anatole. Fedya glanced back and saw him slowly free himself from his sister’s arms and instead leaned against Fedya’s back, sneaking his arm around his chest.

Fedya looked back at Pierre Bezukhov, who stuck out like a sore thumb thanks to his large sweater. He was in their year but looked older. The boy was huge, tall and broad, though always moving with an ease that told he had complete control of his body. Good thing or the opponents he boxed against in the ring could easily break more than their noses when they faced him.

Despite his size and strength, Pierre was anything but the bear he sometimes looked like. He found joy in his schoolwork and the large collection of books in the school’s library. He was clever, Fedya knew, but never flaunted it in the faces of others. Actually, he never did anything in the faces of others.

He always remained by himself, though Fedya suspected it wasn’t because he wanted to be alone. He just didn’t know how to get friends. Real friends, that it. Not since his apparently only friend had graduated last year.

How he had gotten access to the club was a question indeed.

Fedya watched him as he was handed a glass and shooed over to a chair where he sat down, looking lost around the room. Fedya snorted and lifted the bottle to his lips again. What a fool.

Anatole took the bottle from him and frowned. “You almost drank it all.”

“So what?” said Fedya and took it back. “You have your own.”

“You know,” said Anatole, a slur evident in his voice. “You never act drunk.”

Fedya laughed and patted Anatole’s cheek. “You do it for me, my friend.”

“I mean it!” whined Anatole but leaned into the touch. “You drink but you never seem… drunk. Drunk or stupid.”

“Stupid, huh?” said Fedya and looked around. Having Anatole’s attention turned to him made him feel light and warm. He got an idea and grinned. Jumping up from his seat, making Anatole fall down to the floor in a heap, he ran to a table and grabbed a bottle of rum.

“Let me make an effort then,” he said loudly, getting the entire room’s attention. “For your pleasure, Mr. Kuragin.” He made a sweeping bow with the bottle. “Allow me to empty this bottle in one draught.”

“Too easy!” someone yelled.

Fedya mulled over this, his eyes landing on the window. He grinned. “Very well,” he said and flung it open, sending a cold wind into the room. He jumped up onto the windowsill, his feet wobbling a bit so he grabbed the frame. “I will drink it while sitting here without holding on.”

Anatole appeared by his side, a grin threatening to split his face shined up at him. “You’re mad.”

“Indeed,” Fedya said. Several other students began to gather around the windows, talking around themselves or shouting at Fedya.

“No hands at all!”

“Drink it all in one or it doesn’t count.”

“He’s gonna fall!”

“I’ll take that bet.”

Even Pierre came to look, though he seemed terrified by it all. Fedya didn’t notice as he looked out the window. They were on the third floor, a stone path with a few bushes were the only thing to see below the window. If he fell, he could break every bone in his body. He grinned.

He touched the windowsill with his foot, feeling how it tilted down.

“Anatole,” he said and handed him the bottle. Then he grabbed the window frame and began to lower himself until he sat down on the sill, his feet dangling into the empty air. He shifted around until he found a somewhat comfortable way to sit.

He could feel gravity pull him forward and had to lean back. The sill was rough stone so his trousers didn’t slide, but a little too much weight forward and he would surely fall.

His heart began to pound faster and he couldn’t get the grin off his face. “Hand me the rum.” Anatole did and Fedya shifted one last time before letting go of the frame.

Slowly, he brought the bottle to his lips and began to drink.

That itself was not the hardest part. He had done so before and with ease. No, it was that the already large amount of vodka in his system did little to help him keep his balance. One hand was holding the rum to his lips, while the other was in midair, trying to keep himself steady as he drank.

Rum was far from his drink of choice, but it made do. He drank it with practiced ease, despite the struggle of having to lean his head back. His body tried automatically to compensate for this by leaning forward. His arm moved through the air, almost touching the frame but never making contact. He heard his name being shouted.

He drank the rum, letting it run down his throat. He closed his eyes, barely able to breathe. How fucking stupid this was. He was close to spilling the rum when a smile crawled over his lips. Fucking stupid. He would have laughed if he could.

He opened his eyes and saw the clouded sky over him, along with the towering walls of the school. But most importantly, he saw the bottle, almost empty. He threw his head further back, feeling the last of the rum run down his throat, before removing the bottle with a gasp.

Laughter burst from his lips the same time as a cheer rose from behind him. He turned around, and almost slid down. Anatole was quick though and grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him back. With slightly shaking legs, Fedya got up and stood in the window in front of his yelling and cheering schoolmates. He threw the bottle out the window and raised his arms in triumph.

Anatole was grinning at him, eyes bright with laughter and joy. Hélène was beside him, looking smug and licking her lips. Even Pierre was there, though he looked more shell-shocked than anything.

Hands helped Fedya down from the window and he leaned against Anatole who attacked his neck with lips and fingers, while Hélène slapped him across the chest, calling him an idiot. Money exchanged hands and many thanked Fedya for their winnings or congratulated him on the stunt.

“I’ll do it too!” came a yell and all turned towards the window. Fedya barely believed what he saw. Pierre was standing in the same spot he had just left, a bottle of rum in his hands. His face had the expression people who don’t usually drink get when they have had way too much, and he was swaying slightly.

“Get down, you fool,” said Fedya and grabbed Pierre by the arm, pulling him safely from the window. Pierre turned bright red and looked down, but Fedya just pulled him in close and kissed him on the cheek, making the boy blush even more. “Leave that to the professionals.”

“I just–“ stammered Pierre, but was cut short by Hélène who swooped in and kissed him in the mouth. Fedya thought the poor boy might faint but he stayed on his feet, arms sticking out like he didn’t know what to do with them. Hélène didn’t release him and he finally let himself touch her waist.

Fedya laughed. This was no doubt Pierre’s first kiss, judging by the look on his face. Fedya glanced at Anatole who was looking at Fedya with a heated expression. Grinning, he leaned in and kissed Anatole. He tasted of vodka, and Fedya stuck his tongue into his mouth, gladly tasting something other than the rum.

“Let’s go,” said Anatole when they drew apart, his hands once again finding their way into Fedya’s clothes. “I need you. Now.”

“Fine by me,” Fedya grinned. He winked at Balaga on their way out, and the man shook his head with a fond look and saluted Fedya as they left. Fedya grinned and pulled Anatole close as they stumbled down the hallway, heading for the room they shared. The night was still young.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's another chapter of this thing. Enjoy!

It both amused and annoyed Fedya that Hélèna seemed to have chosen Pierre to pass the time with. Why he had no idea. Well, that wasn’t true. The bear did have a certain thing about him that made Fedya want to just roll over as well, but he didn’t know why Hélène bothered.

Out of every boy at the school, she chose Pierre. They acted as a true couple, sitting together and holding hands, touching and sneaking around in the night. Fedya knew it was bullshit.

While he saw how Pierre seemed to revel in this new experience, he knew Hélène better than that. So did Anatole.

“It’s a phase,” he said one night, lying on Fedya’s bed and looking shamelessly good with his uniform all rumbled. “He must be the last boy at school after all. Now she can say she has been everywhere.”

“But he’s so…” Fedya tried to find the right word. Anatole merely nodded.

“I know,” he sighed. “But let her have her fun. She’ll come back soon.”

Fedya snorted. “I never doubted that you know.”

Anatole just hummed and pulled out his phone, tapping away on the screen. Fedya returned to his French homework, which was once again giving him trouble. “You could help me, you know,” he said to Anatole.

“French is overrated,” came the reply.

“Not when your grades depend on it,” said Fedya and threw his pencil aside and leaned back in his creaking chair. “Besides, it easy for you to say.” Anatole’s mother had spent most of her life in France and only spoke French with the twins who had learned it since childhood. Fedya wasn’t totally incompetent with the language, though his pronunciation was horrible, as his teacher told him nearly daily. Normally, he wouldn’t care at all, except he had to keep his grades up if he wanted to stay in the archery club.

Anatole had little trouble with school work. While not the brightest, he still got by without much effort. Fedya would never understand how. Anatole’s own explanation was quite simple. “I’m hot,” he usually said with a shrug and a devilishly handsome smile. And Fedya had to at least agree with that.

He tried again to focus on a sentence about Napoleon or something when he felt a hand on each of his shoulders.

“No,” he said, frowning at a word he didn’t know and reached for his dictionary.

“But I’m bored,” whispered Anatole so close to Fedya’s ear, his warm breath sent shiver’s down his back. The hand moved forward and down Fedya’s chest and lips began to nip at his earlobe.

Fedya’s breath caught a little in his throat and he turned a page in the dictionary a little too forcefully, hearing a small ripping sound. “I’m studying,” he managed to say. Anatole’s answer was a swift move with his tongue along Fedya’s ear.

“All work and no play,” he whispered and stroke Fedya briefly over the crotch with a hand, making him jerk in his chair. “Don’t be dull, Teo.”

Fedya leaned his head back so it rested against Anatole’s shoulder. “Don’t call me that,” he said, annoyed at himself for sounding out of breath. Anatole just smiled and duck his head down to attack Fedya’s neck and shoulder, his eager hands fumbling with his fly.

“Play with me,” Anatole whined, licking and nibbling along his neck and Fedya swallowed, blood rushing south and pooling somewhere down under the skill of Anatole’s long, slender fingers.

“Dinner’s in half an hour,” breathed Fedya, glancing at his wristwatch as he lifted his hand to touched Anatole’s soft hair.

“I’ll be quick.”

Giving his homework a last glance, he moaned and leaned his head to the side, giving Anatole better access, which he immediately took advantage of. His hands got Fedya’s pants undone and sneaked inside, making him jump in his seat.

“Bed,” he whispered into Fedya’s ear and drew back. Fedya barely held back a whine and got up from the chair.

He let Anatole push him down on his bed and moved up so his back was against the wall. He watched with a grin as Anatole kneeled between his legs and began to tug at Fedya’s pants. He got them far enough down so he could pull his boxers aside, and Fedya sighed as he was released from his pants, already more than half hard.

Anatole never wasted time and grabbed his cock, stroking it a few times before leaning down and taking it into his mouth. Fedya gasped loudly, eyes rolling back as Anatole took in all of him. His hand flew up and grabbed the pale, golden hair and took a firm grip, desperate for some kind of control.

Anatole hummed in pleasure at the small pain the grip no doubt was having on him and began to move his head up and down.

Fedya tried to set the pace, pulling or pushing Anatole down to his liking, but it was no use. This was Anatole’s element, as comfortable in it as a fish was in the sea. Fedya could rip his hair out but Anatole wouldn’t stop unless he wanted to. It was one of the reasons why Fedya loved to top his roommate. When he had him beneath him, Fedya was the one in charge, and by god, he loved those moments. They were rare though. Anatole was a master at this game and he refused to play by any other rules than his own.

It took a few minutes, but finally, Fedya just gave in and let Anatole have his fun. He was having fun too. Anatole looked sinfully beautiful, his lip around Fedya’s cock, head moving up and down as he, with closed eyes, brought Fedya closer and closer to the edge.

When he felt he was close, he tugged slightly at the hair, letting Anatole know. The blue eyes opened and looked up at him, the lips stretching slightly up into a smile.

“Have it – _ah_ – your way then,” Fedya gasped and leaned his head back, letting himself get lost into the feeling, until he with one final warning tug of his hair, came into Anatole’s mouth with a deep groan. Anatole kept his head down and swallowed while Fedya gasped, trying to remember how to breathe.

“Fuck,” he mumbled and let go of Anatole’s hair, which he had grabbed a little too tightly then he came. “Sorry.”

Anatole lifted his head and shook it, revealing red, swollen lips that grinned at Fedya. “Make it up to me then.” He jumped to his feet and made short work of pulling off his own pants and throwing them aside, his shirt following shortly.

Then he climbed up onto the bed, straddling Fedya who steadied him with hands on his hips. Anatole was hard and leaned in close, the tip of his cock brushing Fedya’s chest, smearing pre-come unto his shirt.

“Fedya,” he whispered, jerking his hips forward. Fedya looked up at him and then took hold of his cock, enjoying how the blue eyes fluttered slightly as he began to move his hand up and down, keeping a tight grip.

Anatole grabbed his shoulders, keeping himself steady and Fedya worked his cock with one hand, and leaned down to lick and kiss as his chest. Hands found their way into Fedya’s hair, pulling him close as he moved his hand faster.

“Yes, Fedya, fuck yes,” moaned Anatole and moved his hips, sliding his bare skin over Fedya’s cock, which was nestled against his ass and way too sensitive right now. Fedya gasped at the sensation, using his other hand to urge Anatole’s hips to work faster. The sensitivity was almost painful and Fedya grinned at it, feeling himself growing hard again, though slowly.

Anatole’s bare skin beneath his hands and mouth was warm. He could never get enough of this. He fucking loved it. Hélène was a dream in bed, shifting from wild to mild in a blink of an eye. Just as demanding as her twin, she knew what she wanted and didn’t stop until she got it. Fedya adored it, loved the noises she made and hos she moved beneath him, but nothing beat Anatole at his height of pleasure.

When he thought of nothing but his own pleasure, mouth open and eyes closed, moving with an ease and skill one could almost call unworldly, Anatole was beautiful. Fedya couldn’t count the times he had gotten lost in the sight before him, working eagerly to see the moment Anatole would come apart for him.

Anatole came, head thrown back, exposing his long slender neck, and moaning almost melodically. Fedya kept stroking him, ignoring how a wet stain began to spread on his shirt, totally lost in the sight before him.

After a long moment, Anatole sighed and slumped forward, head coming to a rest on Fedya’s shoulder.

“That was fun,” he whispered, lips brushing Fedya’s neck. He shivered. He could hear Anatole’s heart beating in his chest, or was it his own? The pulse was fast but steady, slowly coming down to a normal speed. Fedya was suddenly aware of how damp his shirt was, and not just from Anatole’s cum.

With a dry mouth, he looked at his wristwatch. Four minutes until dinner. “We better get dressed.”

Anatole hummed, giving Fedya’s neck one last kiss before leaning away and stretching his back like a cat. He climbed off Fedya, who felt colder without Anatole’s skin pressed against him and began to clean himself with a box of tissues he kept beneath his bed.

Fedya didn’t feel like moving as he usual becoming drowsy from sex, while Anatole only seemed to get more energy from it, and had to force himself to get up.

He tugged himself away, the fleeting hardness gone as soon as Anatole’s heat had disappeared, and closed his pants. He took off his shirt and threw it aside, digging another one out of his closet.

“Better hurry or we’ll miss the door,” he said to Anatole, who was looking at himself in the small mirror they had one the wall, doing this and that to his hair which already sat perfectly, despite Fedya’s rough handling of it.

“Perfection takes time,” said Anatole and turned his head from side to side with a critical look on his face. Fedya sighed and grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the mirror under protests.

~*~

The hall master was about to lock the door when they came running and gave them a disapproving look before letting them into the dining hall. It closed forcefully behind them and the lock clicked.

Fedya breathed out in relief. If you missed the door you were locked out and didn’t get dinner. It was merely one of the many ways the school tried to teach its students punctuality. You didn’t show up, you didn’t get to eat. Simple.

Many just got annoyed when they missed the door, and then returned to their room. Any sensible student had a small hoard of food hidden away. Easy meals that didn’t require more than could be found in the small shared kitchen the students had on each floor, containing a microwave and a kettle.

Fedya didn’t have the money to take a trip to the village every other weekend – most of his money went to Balaga to pay for this and that – so he did his best not to miss a meal. Anatole, having more money than he could spend (not for a lack of trying, though) eagerly bought enough for two, filling the small cabinet in their room with everything from snacks, chocolate, to easy food.

Fedya didn’t like to take from it.

Alcohol and cigarettes were one thing, they shared that, but food he wasn’t comfortable with. He blamed his childhood for that kind of thinking. Not having enough money to eat apparently did things to a child.

Anatole always said he was foolish, but Fedya still did his best not to miss a school meal.

They were hearty, fattening, aimed to help the students deal with the cold weather, and despite what the others said about the lacking taste, Fedya enjoyed it immensely.

He dragged Anatole over to the table where Hélène and Pierre sat, passing the teacher’s table were several disapproving looks were directed at them. Anatole, as always, bathed in any kind of attention he could get, and swaggered after Fedya, who kept his head down until he reached the empty seats.

Pierre frowned slightly at them. “Cutting it a bit close, guys,” he said.

“Forgot the time,” said Fedya, pulling Anatole down into his seat, interrupting the kiss he had just blown to a girl across the hall. “He was helping me with French.”

“How kind of you, brother,” she said who of course didn’t believe a word of it. She knew them both too well.

“I _am_ kind, dear sister,” said Anatole loudly and leaned back in his chair with a casualness Fedya had to admire. So did Pierre, judging by the look on his face.

“Hmm…” Hélène stroked her chin with a perfectly manicured finger. “Your fly is open, Nat,” she said as the food was served.

Dinner was most student’s favorite time of the day. While breakfast and lunch had a rule of silence, aimed to keep students focused during the school day, there were no rules about dinner, the locked door aside.

You were allowed to sit anywhere, across the years and dorms and genders – something that wasn’t allowed during class or in the recesses – and allowed to talk as loudly as possible. The sound of hundreds of voices and cutlery against plates echoed in the hall. It was the perfect time to talk secrets since any word not spoken inched from each other’s ears would fade into the noise.

Fedya and the twins had often used this to their gain, grinning at dirty joked and heated promises, or making fun at the teachers or the other students.

Not that they had done it in a while. Not after Pierre had joined them. While it had become more than clear that he wasn’t such a _good boy_ as Fedya had first thought, he was still new to their little world. The dirty jokes made him blush red as a tomato and stammer incoherent words into his food. The fun at others' expense left him puzzled, not because he didn’t have humor, it was just rare that he found other’s flaws funny.

It would have annoyed Fedya, but thankfully a few jokes still seemed to pass Pierre by, and he and the twins could share an amused look when it happened. It felt too much like they were making fun of Pierre, and Fedya was apparently petty enough to enjoy it.

Just like now, when Hélène had asked seemingly innocent why Fedya had changed his shirt, and why there were pink spots on his neck, Pierre didn’t seem to get the fact that Fedya and Anatole had just made each other cum in their room. He just ate his food, smiling at Hélène when she leaned against him and ran her fingers through his slightly unruly hair.

Fedya had just managed to turn Anatole into the subject of their jokes when a sudden hush fell over the hall. They looked up, like everyone else, towards the door which had opened. That itself was unusual. It never opened during dinner.

But now it was open, and in stepped a girl, dressed in the school uniform. She was pretty, dark-skinned and had an almost blinding smile. Fedya didn’t recognize her and guessed she was a new student. She was petit and judging by the emblem on her jumper, in the year below them.

New students didn’t happen that often and the girl was immediately the center of the entire hall’s attention. Even the teachers stretched their necks to get a better look, while some students stood up from their chairs.

It was rare anyone would enjoy being the center of such attention, but the girl seemed to bask in it. Her smile grew and she held her head high as she walked across the hall, heading for the teachers' table. Students weren’t normally allowed near it during dinner, but Fedya suddenly spotted an empty chair beside the headmistress.

Headmistress Dmitriyevna stood up as the girl reached the table and gestured for her to sit down beside her. The girl sat elegantly down and the headmistress kissed her forehead before returning to her own seat. A hushed mumbling began to spread out through the hall, low compared to the usual noise level.

Fedya frowned a little. He had never seen a student sit at the teacher’s table.

“Oh my,” said Pierre and Fedya looked at him.

“What?”

“That’s Natasha Rostova,” Pierre sat, taking off his glasses to polish them in a napkin before pushing them back up his nose.

“You know her?” asked Hélène and glanced at the girl with interest.

“Yes, our families are friends. Our fathers know each other quite well.” Pierre looked like he wanted to wave at Natasha but was too shy to do so. “She’s the headmistress niece if I’m not mistaken.”

“Niece, huh,” said Hélène, still looking at the girl. “Makes sense, I suppose. But what is she doing here?”

“Well, judging from the uniform–“ began Fedya and ducked with a grin as Hélène threw her fork at him. It fell to the floor with a clatter.

“How old is she?” she asked Pierre.

“Fourteen – no, fifteen last month,” said Pierre.

Two years younger than them. And the headmistress niece. Fedya grinned, knowing well what the school gossip would be about for the next month or so. He hoped Natasha truly enjoyed the attention, for she wouldn’t get a second’s peace until everyone knew all her secrets.

He turned to Anatole, ready to share this with him, but his smile faltered. Anatole was more than just starring at her. His eyes were wide and dazed, and his mouth was slightly open. He looked handsome as always, but his eyes were on Natasha with such intensity, that Fedya got worried. So did Hélène.

She reached across the table and touched his hand. “Brother?”

Anatole didn’t remove his gaze. “She’s beautiful,” he said and Fedya looked back at Natasha, who had noticed Anatole now. But then again, it was hard not to. She smiled at him while trying to keep up her conversation with her aunt.

A shiver of dread ran down Fedya’s back.   
  


~*~

As he had predicted, Natasha Rostova was the subject everyone talked about.

The gossip flowed freely, and since Natasha wasn’t shy about talking about herself, and did so more than was necessary, Fedya soon knew more about her than he wanted to.

She was like everyone else at the school from an old, rich family. Very old, actually. She had until now attended a girls-only academy down south, but had apparently begged her parents about changing school. Longing for something new, she wanted a change of scenery, and while her mother was fiercely protective of her, she had agreed since her sister was the headmistress.

Aside from that, she enjoyed music, horses, had a black kitten named Starlight, and was allergic to strawberries.

The latter things Fedya could have lived without knowing, but the girl had become Anatole’s newest obsession, and every new little thing he learned about hee was shared with Fedya in excruciating details.

Fedya had learned early in their time at school that an obsessed Anatole was a dangerous Anatole. When the boy got an idea into his head – good or bad, it didn’t matter to him – there was nothing to do. If he wondered if there was a way to the top of the school roofs, he spent days searching for building plans, secrets doors, and hidden staircases. If he wondered if it was possible to travel to the little village in less than an hour, he bribed Balaga to drive him. If he wanted to know Natasha Rostova better, he got to know her better, one way or the other.

He shamelessly used Pierre for this, asking him about Natasha whenever he could. Pierre didn’t seem to mind, glad to have Anatole’s attention, and maybe even enjoying talking about Natasha, who Fedya couldn’t help but notice he was a bit smitten with.

Anatole’s main source of information, however, was Hélène, who could enter the girl’s dorm and actually talk with Natasha outside of class. Fedya got the impression that Hélène liked her well enough, though one could never truly know with Hélène.

She quickly became irritated that both her brother and boyfriend spend so much time gossiping about the new girl, and began spending time with Fedya, returning to their former ways of entertaining themselves.

“Aren’t Pierre your boyfriend anymore?” asked Fedya one afternoon, lying panting on his bed with a hand lazily stroking her bare chest.

“Maybe,” was her only answer, before kissing him, efficiently drawing him into another round.

Normally, Fedya didn’t mind when Anatole became obsessed with a girl, it happened once in a while. It just annoyed him that it happened with such force.

Suddenly the girl was the only thing Anatole could talk about. And there was no shortage of ways to talk about her. If it wasn’t her face, then her body. If it wasn’t her smile, then her eyes. And if it wasn’t her laugh, then the elegant way she walked.

“You know, I hear she’s engaged,” said Fedya one day in annoyance, when Anatole had once again begun a drawn-out tale of how she had smiled at him during lunch.

The fact, while being true, didn’t worry Anatole at all. “So? I am too, remember?”

Oh, Fedya remembered.

It may be an old practice, but most of the students were actually promised away to someone. Several of his classmates had been engaged for years, a husband or wife waiting for them as soon as they graduated school. As far as he knew, it was the old families’ way of trying to control their youths. Rarely worked. Times had changed, they just hadn’t gotten the memo.

Anatole’s father had promised him away to some girl whose name Fedya had happily forgotten (and didn’t care to relearn) but was probably aware that his son didn’t have any wish of actually marrying her. The same could be said about Hélène, who had multiple suitors ready for her hand though Fedya doubted she would ever take one.

It had therefore not come as a surprise for him to hear Natasha Rostova was fifteen and engaged. It was who she was engaged to that had startled him.

“It’s Andrey Bolkonsky,” Fedya told Anatole, watching him out of the corner of his eye. For once, Anatole’s smile froze on his face. He looked at Fedya.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.”

“Well, fuck me.”

“Not right now,” mumbled Fedya, but his joke, which usually got a laugh and a dirty… something, from Anatole, was ignored.

“Old Andrey, huh,” said Anatole. Andrey had graduated just last year, leaving the school and his friend Pierre behind, to enter a life in the military, which was a tradition in his family. None of them had really cared about Andrey before. He was good-looking and smart, but _such_ a good student he had been nothing but boring. He had been on the fencing team with Anatole, whose dedication to his team was perhaps the only reason why Andrey hadn’t been the subject of their teasing like Pierre had.

Anatole looked thoughtful for a moment, a look Fedya had rarely seen on him, and then smiled wildly. “Doesn’t matter, does it?” he said and dug out his violin from its case beneath the bed. “Andrey isn’t here.”

~*~

Two months after Natasha’s arrival, Fedya had enough of the lovestruck Anatole and dragged him to Balaga’s for a Friday night of drinking with the hope that copious amounts of vodka might wash away the crush.

No such luck, but for a few hours Anatole seemed to forget the girl and instead just had fun with Fedya and Hélène, who had been followed closely by Pierre. She had almost immediately ditched him, flinging herself elegantly into Fedya’s arm and snatched his bottle away from him.

Pierre had watched her a bit confused and clearly hurt, but had turned his attention towards Anatole who gave him drink after drink, after drink.

Hélène made herself comfortable in Fedya’s arms and it quickly became too much for Anatole, who then joined her in licking spilled vodka from Fedya’s throat. Fedya could have purred, enjoying the attention from both of them. Since Pierre had joined their group and Natasha had shown up at school, the three of them had barely spent any time together. At least not like this, and fuck if Fedya hadn’t missed it.

The joy was too short, for soon Anatole began his usual song about Natasha, about her beauty and elegance, and Fedya, being fed up, kicked him off the couch. Anatole landed on the floor with a yell, glaring at Fedya when he popped back up. Hélène laughed.

“I was seconds from doing the same, brother dear,” she said and stroked Anatole over the forehead. He climbed back on the couch, still glaring at Fedya, who just saluted him with his drink.

To annoy Anatole, Fedya did his best to shower Hélène with his attention. Kissing her, holding her close, grinning when Anatole’s glare grew until Fedya could practically feel it burning into the back of his head. Hélène was on board, laughing when he stuck his head down between her breasts, and let him run his hand as far up under her skirt as was possible.

The vodka and her intoxicating scent made Fedya’s head spin and he didn’t really understand what happened when he was torn away from Hélène and thrown to the floor beside the couch. He landed with a grunt, the bottle flying from his hand and rolling away.

Above him, resembling more than ever an enraged bear, stood Pierre, breathing heavily and glaring down at Fedya.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Pierre said in a calm voice, uncharacteristic with his current stance. Fedya, head still spinning and probably not having the greatest sense of self-preservation in that very moment, grinned up at Pierre.

“Well you know, dear Pierre, it always tastes better when you take it from another man’s plate.” Slightly surprised that his words didn’t slur, Fedya laid back on his elbow and sprawled out his legs before him, looking more at ease than he probably was.

“She’s my girlfriend, you bully!” said Pierre in a louder voice now.

Fedya snorted. “Then how come she’s spent the last few weeks in my bed?”

He grinned, letting the words sink into Pierre’s no doubt just as inhibited mind, and enjoyed the look of confusion he saw. It slowly turned into realization, and then fury.

Pierre reached down and grabbed Fedya’s shirt with one of his large hands and pulled him clean off the floor. Fedya yelped and grabbed the hand, clinging to it in case Pierre let go, not wanting to drop down on his ass.

He was pulled in close and looked into Pierre’s dark eyes, which were slightly unfocused. Anatole had really done a good job getting him drunk.

“You bully!” he yelled into Fedya’s face.

Falling into the same mood that made him sit on a windowsill and drink a whole bottle of rum, Fedya merely gave Pierre a toothy grin. “Like you could ever fuck her like I do.”

Pierre stared at him for a second, dumbfounded, then with a roar, threw him down. Anatole caught him, saving his head from smashing again the table, and held him close as Pierre, now looking truly furious, reached for him again.

“Pierre, stop!” said Hélène, trying to grab Pierre’s massive arm. He shrugged her off and reached for Fedya, who struggled with Anatole. The idiot apparently thought that holding him still somehow protected him from Pierre. He was wrong. Pierre grabbed Fedya by the shirt, again pulling him up and out of Anatole’s arms, only this time, Fedya could stand on his own feet.

Only he didn’t get to stand for long, for Pierre punched him square in the face, sending him crashing to the floor. Someone screamed. Others yelled his name or Pierre’s. Fedya barely noticed any of it. He could barely see anything. Colors and lights swam for his eyes, and throbbing pain on the side of his head made everything more muddled.

He shook his head, hoping it would clear. It didn’t, instead, the room spun as he saw a large looming figure come closer.

More yelling. He was grabbed, lifted so his upper body was off the floor.

Knowing what was coming, Fedya just smiled. The punch landed on the same spot as before, and his head snapped to the side. It didn’t hurt as much as the first, but it was still fucking painful.

He then got one to the stomach, and it was honestly a miracle he didn’t throw up. When he was able to breathe again, he began to laugh. The looming figure slowly came into focus, and he saw Pierre look down at him, confused, angry and a bit worried.

That wouldn’t do. Fedya didn’t do worry.

He forced his bleeding lips to smile.

“You can’t love her, you fool,” he said. “You can’t even fuck her right.”

Arms appeared and took hold of Pierre before he could throw himself at Fedya. He just began to yell at Fedya, calling him every name in the book. Fedya let him bark, focusing instead on getting back up onto his feet. Hélène helped him, which might have only made Pierre even more furious.

“Your boyfriend is an angry drunk,” said Fedya and rubbed his aching cheek.

“Oh, he’s just a romantic,” said Hélène in an oddly emotionless voice. “He’s protecting my honor.”

Fedya laughed and looked at Pierre. “Oh really? Protecting your honor?”

Pierre seemed to grow where he stood. “Yes, I did!” he said loudly. “You’re a scoundrel and a bully and I… and I…” he seemed to search for the right word. Fedya decided to join in.

“And you’re pathetic,” said Fedya. “Only reason we hang out with you is that you’re so thickheaded, you don’t even realize we’re mocking you.”

“Fedya,” hissed Hélène but he ignored her, enjoying the shocked look on Pierre’s face too much.

“I thought there had to be more, you know?” he continued, “that maybe your dick was big enough to make up for the lack of skill–“ the punch sent him crashing down to the floor.

“Pierre!” shrieked Hélène, while Fedya shook his head and wondered where the ringing sound was coming from.

Pierre roared something unintelligible and grabbed Fedya. He picked him up and threw him across the room. He landed hard on the floor and rolled. When he finally stopped, he could no longer hold it back and vomited on the carpet. Vodka and bile burned his throat, and he coughed and spat but the taste was still in his mouth.

Anatole was at his side in a second. “Fuck sake, Fedya, shut your mouth.”

Fedya licked his lip, feeling a sting, and then looked up. Pierre was being held back by a few of their classmates, but he suspected the idiot could easily throw them off. He was breathing like a bull in a fight and eyed Fedya like he wanted nothing but rip his head from his shoulders. Something he might actually be able to, judging by his insane strength.

For some reason, it just pissed off Fedya. He grabbed Anatole by the shoulder and was helped to his feet. He swayed slightly but managed to stay upright, and pushed himself away from Anatole, who still held his hands out in case he fell again.

He gave Pierre his best smile. “Is that all you got?”

Famous last word for a reason. Everything went wrong then, and would never really get fixed.

Pierre once again grabbed him and threw him on top of a table, which crashed beneath him. A sharp pain tore a gasp from his mouth, and it was the only thing he knew of in that second. Not Pierre screaming at him or his large paws still holding his shirt could pierce through the pain in his side.

He tried to look down and maybe he was seeing things, but it looked like something was sticking out of his stomach, tenting his shirt close to his hip, and slowly turning the white fabric red.

He was released so suddenly he fell back, groaning as the pain nearly blinded him. Oh, it hurt. It fucking hurt.

He tried to touch the spot, but his hand was held back. Looking up, he saw Anatole, unusually pale and with wide eyes. Well, that didn’t bode well.

It was then the sound came to him. Like a balloon popping, it came crashing down on him. Voices and voices, screaming, yelling and talking too loudly near him. He made no sense from it all, except for Pierre, who sat close by muttering to himself as his large, shaking hands hovered over Fedya without touching him.

That was just wrong. Everything was just wrong. And everything hurt. He reached for Anatole and felt him grab his hand. That was nice.

“Fedya?” he heard Anatole say, and he tried to answer, but everything was turning quite again. That’s when he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... I actually played around with an actual duel taking place between Feyda and Pierre, but at the time of writing, several school shootings had taken place over a very short time, so it felt wrong. Hope a good old fight sufficed instead. 
> 
> Anyway, this will be the last chapter to somehow resemble the original story. From now on, it's crazy and weird. Stay tuned.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's another chapter of whatever this is. Enjoy!
> 
> Oh, and thanks for the kudos and comments! You guys rock!

To: Fedyof Dolokhov (fedol@HMAcademy.ru)  
From: Anatole Kuragin (ankur@HMAcademy.ru)  
  
 _Hey Fedya_

_Sorry I haven’t called but you forgot your phone in our room and I don’t know your home number. I tried unlocking your phone to find it, but I think I just managed to block it for three months sorry!!! I also tried the student office but they were like, we don’t give out student’s personal information. Stupid bitch. Anyway. I hope your family has a computer or your inbox will be slammed when you come back to school. You are coming back right? No one tells us anything here. You are okay, right?_

_When Balago drove off with you there was a bit of fumbling. Chaos actually. Teachers all freaked out. It was the longest night ever! they wouldn’t let us sleep. Balaga came up with a cover story. It’s pretty good but I don’t think the teachers bought it. There have been loads of student meetings and gatherings reminding us about the rules and all that. Balaga says the club needs to go quiet for a while. BTW Do you remember what Balaga did? I hope not. It sounded like it hurt._

_Call when you can.  
Anatole_

To: Fedyof Dolokhov (fedol@HMAcademy.ru)  
From: Anatole Kuragin (ankur@HMAcademy.ru)  
  
 _Hey Fedya._

_Still haven’t heard from you._

_School is normal. Teachers are keeping a close eye on all of us, and rule breaking is being punished a bit harder lately. I think it’s just a faze._

_BUT!!!! You won’t believe it. I spend a whole day with Natasha this weekend. A whoooole day. It was amazing. She is so beautiful and nice. I think I might love her, Teo. I really do. she’s everything. Her hair is so soft and dark, and her smell!!! TEO HER SMELL its amazing. I could just smell her forever. Don’t ever tell her that._

_The winter ball is coming up and I asked her to go with me, and she said yes! I’m so excited. I want to kiss her and dance with her!_

_Are you coming back in time for the ball?_

_I can't wait to dance with her, Teo. Dance with her all night.  
_ **[mail deleted]**

To: Fedyof Dolokhov (fedol@HMAcademy.ru)  
From: Anatole Kuragin (ankur@HMAcademy.ru)  
  
 _Fedya! YOU WON’T BELIVE IT!!!!!_

_I danced with her all night. It was amazing. I’m in love Teo true love. She is everything.  
_ **[mail deleted]**   
  


To: Fedyof Dolokhov (fedol@HMAcademy.ru)  
From: Hélène Kuragin (hekur@HMAcademy.ru)  
  
 _Fedya!_

_Get off your ass and call Anatole! Talk to him before I kill him. He’s insufferable lately. All he talks about is the girl and follows her around like a puppy. Call! Him! Now!_

_And get back here soon. It's too boring without you._

_Hélène_

To: Fedyof Dolokhov (fedol@HMAcademy.ru)  
From: Pierre Bezukhov (pibez@HMAcademy.ru)  
  
 _I hope you are recovering.  
Pierre  
_ **[mail deleted]**

To: Fedyof Dolokhov (fedol@HMAcademy.ru)  
From: Anatole Kuragin (ankur@HMAcademy.ru)  
  
 _Teo when are you coming back in need you help like ASAP big plans teo BIG PLANS!!!!!  
_ **[mail deleted]**

To: Fedyof Dolokhov (fedol@HMAcademy.ru)  
From: Dmitriyevna (dmitriyevna@HMAcademy.ru)  
  
 _Mr. Dolokhov_

_After careful consideration, the school board has decided to allow you to return to the school, though under certain conditions._

_As the details about the night of your injury are still unspecified, one of those conditions will be a detailed interview with the Headmistress and several teachers. You are also excluded from all non-academic activities, including clubs and social events. Other conditions will be specified upon return._

_The new semester begins on January 4 th._

_Kindest regard_

_Headmistress Dmitriyevna_

Fedya turned off the ancient computer in his mother’s workroom. Usually, it was hidden behind a stack of fabric rolls, but he had dug it out in honor of checking if his expulsion was as eminent as he thought it was. Apparently, he was wrong.

He rose from the chair with a grimace, holding a hand against his side. Nearly three weeks old, and the wound still hurt. The doctor had said it would pass, and Fedya hoped it would be soon. He couldn’t afford the drugs he had been prescribed. The little plastic container with a handful off pills the hospital had given him to take home hadn’t lasted more than a few days. He’d barely been able to move the following week. It was only a few days ago he felt like the pain was easy enough to handle, and he finally began leaving his bed.

He wasn’t going to complain, though. It was his choice. Money was tight, and his mother had already taken time off work to take care of him, saying no to work she really couldn’t afford to lose. He had tried to assure her he didn’t need her to be home, he wasn’t totally invalid, but she had just given him a stern look.

Her work had given her four days. She had taken five, then she had been forced to go back. Bills didn’t pay themselves.

Fedya had been filled with guilt over forcing her to choose between taking care of him and bringing home dinner.

Getting hurt had been the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

To be fair, neither he nor Pierre could have known the table would break like that. Or that the ruined leg would pierce him. Still, fucking stupid.

Getting beat up, skewered, and sewed up in one night had not been the worst of it all. And if he was honest, the humiliation waiting for him back at the school wasn’t either.

No, it was his mother.

The evening after the fight, he had woken up at the hospital in pain and very confused. He had no memory of arriving at the hospital. And if he’d been told anything about his condition, he didn’t remember that either.

No, waking up in a white room smelling like disinfection, hearing a heart monitor beep away beside him, and having an itchy feeling in his arms from where needles were piercing his skin, was nothing really. Not compared to the sight of his mother, looking so small and tired in the chair beside his bed. She was sitting like she was sinking into her seat, wrapped in a blanket. Despite the drug-fueled haze, he recognized her instantly.

Her once coal-black hair had long stripes of white that normally appeared in women far older than her. The same could be said about the lines on her face and the tough skin of the hands. Maria Dolokhov was a woman worn down by life, yet somehow managed to maintain a gentle spirit and a motherly kindness to everyone around her, even those who might not deserve it.

Like him. At that moment.

It was probably motherly instinct made her wake up a few seconds after him, and she became teary-eyed when she saw him awake. Her embrace was so warm and familiar, Fedya suddenly felt like he was five again. Tears, unwanted and very unwelcome, sprang to his eyes, and Fedya did the only thing he could. He buried his face in her shoulder and pretended they weren’t there.

Going home afterward had been like hell.

Fedya hadn’t been home since school started, and it was strange coming back to a house that never seemed to change. Neither did the school, but so much constantly happened, he always expected something to happen at home as well. But no.

Everything was as it always had been. Old, used, and clearly seen better days. But it was warm and clean, and it was home.

His sister had waited for him. Juliya was barely ten but had a look in her eyes that made her seem a hundred. Of course, having a chronic spinal disease, coursing a hump to grow on one’s shoulder, would make most people world-wise.

She tried to hide it with sweaters and shawls, but it became more and more apparent with each year that passed. Fedya knew some surgeries could fix it, but they were expensive. Even when his father had been alive, they hadn’t had that kind of money. Now that he was dead, there was no hope at all.

Still, Juliya kept her spirit high. Despite her disease, she was a very pretty girl who would someday grow into a beauty others would notice and envy. Not that she believed it. Being teased since birth by both kids and adults alike had left scars in her mind so bad she didn’t even go to school anymore. Instead, she helped their mother at work. Helped her make and mend the clothes at the small store. And she was good at it too.

She had reacted to Fedya coming home as a nurse in a war zone would. She got a stern look on her face and made his bed, helped him dress into some clean nightwear, and then began to prepare dinner while their mother sat by him, singing softly.

Their care and love had nearly racked him with guilt. And it only became worse then the letter from the school arrived, telling him that the school board was discussing his future at the school.

The look on his mother’s face…

Fedya kept it together until she left his room and then allowed himself to let it all show. He couldn’t move at all, so all he could do was turn his face away from the door, hoping that if anyone came, they wouldn’t see the tears and clenched teeth.

She never asked what happened and he didn’t tell. She knew about his injury, later telling him calmly that they had to dig around, removing not only the piece of wood from his side but also several small splitters from both inside and around the wound.

It was pure luck; nothing internal had been damaged, but the doctor did have to cut up his side to remove the table leg. They’d cut him open from the entry wound to the exit wound where the tip of the wood had broken through his skin.

It would be a crazy scar. Anatole would probably think it was hot.

Fedya eyed the computer then changed his mind.

He left his mother’s working room and walked into the living room. Juliya was sitting by the fireplace, reading a book where the cover was threatening to fall apart. _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ , he knew. Her favorite.

He looked towards the kitchen and could hear his mother work at the stove. With a sigh, he sat down on the couch behind Juliya and reached out to touch her hair. She had inherited their father’s rusty-colored curls, which fell around her shoulder, not hiding the hump at all.

“Read for me?” he asked. She looked back at him with a smile and turned a page, and he closed his eyes to the sound of her voice.

During dinner, he told his mother about the email from the school and could see her relief instantly. Her children’s education weighed heavily on her mind, and he knew she had feared his expulsion despite not mentioning it once during his recovery. Now, he could see how the tension left her, and the lines around her mouth relaxed. Guilt once again hit him harder than Pierre’s fists.

“Thank heavens,” she sighed, touching the little silver cross hanging from a chain around her neck, and leaned back in her chair. Her soft blue eyes gave him a hard look. “No more trouble, Fedya.”

“Of course not, Mom,” he said and swallowed his mashed potatoes. “I’m an angel, you know that.”

Juliya sniggered into her food and muttered something Fedya couldn’t hear. He winked at her.

She winked back, badly, and so obvious it made Fedya laugh. She looked very proud of herself then.

Maria shook her head disapprovingly at their behavior, but Fedya saw the fond look in her eyes.

“Oh, what will I ever do with you two?” she sighed.

~*~

Christmas came and went, and Fedya, for once, had time to go out and buy both his mother and sister a proper gift. He had dug deeply into his savings, buying his mother a new pair of gloves, winter shoes, and a perfume he knew she truly wanted. For Juliya, he’d bought as many books as his money allowed, and her expression had been the highlight of the day.

Three days before Christmas, he went to have his stitches removed, and he was right. It would be a crazy scar when it fully healed. For now, it was a rather broad line of pink skin with little red dots around it from where the stitches had been. He was told to keep it clean and not do anything too physical the next two weeks.

When the time came to return to school, he found it harder to say goodbye than usual. Knowing what awaited him at the school, he was tempted to ask his mother to stay. But she would never allow that.

So he said his goodbyes and boarded the train yet again, wondering if he’d ever feel better by leaving them standing there at the station.

He always told himself he better get used to it. As soon as he graduated from school, either university or the military waited for him. Attending that would take him to the capital and far away from the little town he’d grown up in. And away from them.

As the train took him north, he allowed himself to just sit and look out of the window, and miss them.

~*~

Fedya closed the door and then leaned against it with a sigh. The last four hours had been the closest thing to torture he had ever experienced.

As soon as he’d arrived at school, he’d been pulled aside and led to a room fit for interrogation. Knowing the school's history from the Cold War, it was actually more than possible. He had then been placed on a stool, having to look up at the table the teachers sat behind, and then asked an endless stream of questions.

For hours they had grilled him about the night of the fight, and he had stuck to the story Anatole had emailed him.

Yes, they had been drinking, but he didn’t remember who brought the alcohol. Yes, they had stayed outside their rooms after curfew but no more than four or five, all of whose names he didn’t remember. He had gotten injured when he stood on a table that broke. Balaga had heard the noise and driven him straight to town when he saw Fedya was hurt.

The rest he didn’t have to lie about. He told them what the doctors had said and how his recovery had been. They listened in silence, letting one teacher handle all the questioning, and all wore faces carved from stone. Fedya did his best to be both respectful and lie his ass off and hoped desperately than he hadn’t swayed from the agreed story.

After the interrogation, he’d waited outside the door for nearly an hour. When he was called back in, he was sternly warned to stay out of trouble, or he’d be thrown out of school. He had just bowed and said he understood. What else could he do? Then he had to listen to the long list of activities he could no longer take part in. The loss of the archery club truly hurt, but he supposed he was lucky.

Didn’t feel like it, though, as he was directed back to his room without dinner. His prison time was beginning now, and his room was to be his cell.

To his great disappointment, Anatole was not there. Fedya had actually hoped he would be. The silent greeting from the empty room hit him almost as hard as seeing his mother at the hospital.

It helped a bit that Anatole had gone beyond himself and prepared the place for his return. Fedya’s bed was made and smelled clean. All his clothes were washed. His homework on his desk, sorted after date, and even had notes written in Anatole’s neat handwriting. Fedya, who hadn’t seen Anatole take one note is class ever, was more than touched by the amount of work his friend had done for him.

Deciding he might as well do the labor work, he sat down at began his prison sentence.

Fedya was deep into a math assignment when the door suddenly flung open. Startled, he looked up and saw Anatole.

For a second, they just stared at each other. Anatole hadn’t changed a bit – _and why would he?_ Fedya scoffed at himself. It had been a month, not a year – and was as good looking as always, with his hair groomed to perfection, and his school uniform looking handsomely ruffled.

That alone would have been enough for Fedya to feel warmer than usual, but then he noticed the red tint to Anatole’s cheeks and the slight winded look on his face. He had run, and fast, something he never did unless it suited him.

He had run to see Fedya.

A new kind of warmth spread inside Fedya, pushing the other one aside, and he gave Anatole a small smile. “Hey,” he said, “I’m back.”

A moment or so passed, then Anatole strode into the room, slamming the door closed behind him, and grabbed Fedya’s face in both his hands and pulled him into a kiss.

Fedya had to grab Anatole’s shoulder, or he would have tumbled backward out of his chair. Anatole bore down on him, keeping him close as the kiss grew bruising. Fedya’s head was forced backward, his back bowing, and he felt pain begin to bloom in his side, protesting against the treatment, but he couldn’t deny himself this. Any kind of pain was worth Anatole’s lips against his.

Only when Anatole forced him back so far, he had to grip the desk and the chair to keep himself from crashing to the floor did Anatole break the kiss, breathing heavily.

Fedya was gasping for air as well, his lips tingling after the kiss, and damn, he wanted more. Anatole leaned down and pressed his forehead to Fedya’s. Mingling their breath, Anatole smiled. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” said Fedya and winced a little as the pain turned into a steady throb in his side. Anatole didn’t seem to notice. He stood back, grabbing Fedya’s hands and pulled him to his feet. He attacked Fedya’s clothes at once, pulling his sweater over his head while backing him towards the bed.

Fedya let him, ignoring the common sense telling him they probably shouldn’t. He was still hurt. Something that was all too easy to forget as Anatole’s hand sneaked down to palm his crotch.

He groaned when Anatole pushed him down on the bed, the fall jolting his entire body, but he didn’t protest as Anatole pulled his pants down and threw his own clothes aside. Crawling up Fedya’s body, Anatole grinned like a cat. He sneaked Fedya’s t-shirt up to his chest and then stilled.

Trying not to jerk to violently, Fedya’s froze as fingers carefully traced the new, pink scar near his hip. Anatole was still breathing hard. Quick and light, the fingers ran over the sensitive scar tissue, making Fedya gasp lightly.

Anatole drew back. “Sorry.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” Fedya lied. “Don’t stop.”

Anatole didn’t believe him, Fedya could see it in his eyes, but just like he’d never been able to deny Anatole anything, Anatole, in turn, had trouble refusing Fedya. Or rather, he never refused himself, and it was clear what he wanted right now.

Ducking down, he licked and kissed Fedya’s stomach and chest, while his hands roamed down his hips and legs. He took great care in not coming too close to the scar, and while it still let itself be known through a pulsing pain, Fedya ignored it, instead focusing on the wicked things Anatole was capable of doing with his tongue.

Fedya let himself be pulled under, leaning into the touches Anatole showered him with, coming with a groan, and for the first time since Natasha Rostova entered the school, it felt like everything was as it should be. Anatole came inside him, gasping Fedya’s name. Fedya reveled in the feeling and clung to him like his life depended on it.

When Anatole slowly pulled out and flopped down beside him on the creaking bed, Fedya opened his arms to him as they both caught their breath.

When the sweat on their skin began to cool, Fedya grabbed his bed covers and threw it over then. Anatole snuggled in close, resting his head on Fedya’s chest. His hands were beneath the blanket, softly running his fingers up and down Fedya’s cock. He didn’t get hard, but the touch was still pleasant.

He buried his face in Anatole’s hair, breathing in the scent of his pomade.

He felt happy, relaxed, and drowsy. And that was when Anatole asked him. “Will you help me write a letter to Natasha? A love letter?”

His expression didn’t change, but Fedya felt like his heart suddenly shifted its rhythm, sending something cold through his veins and deep into his core. He barely recognized his own voice when he answered.

“Of course. Anything for you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much the last piece of recognizable plot from the story we all know and love. From here on, it's gonna be a strange shitshow where people make decisions I don't even understand. Enjoy!

Returning to school wasn’t the humiliation Fedya had feared.

He dreaded going down to breakfast the following morning, but Anatole dragged him along, not listening to his halfhearted protests. When they entered the dining hall, a hush fell shortly over the room, not unlike when Natasha Rostova had arrived.

Anatole basked in the attention, while Fedya wished the floor would open and swallow him. It only lasted a few seconds, though, for he realized the other students weren’t leering or looking mockingly at him. Instead, he saw curious and slightly admirably faces turned his way.

Anatole nudged him with his elbow. Fedya looked at him and then towards the teachers, who didn’t share their students’ excitement. Fedya quickly ducked his head and followed Anatole. On the way, he spotted Pierre, sitting at a table assigned to his hallway. Their eyes met very briefly before Pierre looked down at his breakfast, not raising his eyes again for the rest of the meal.

The rest of the day was far more amusing. While returning to school after Christmas usually meant an increase in homework, and the teachers beginning their usual speeches about the upcoming finals, Fedya found himself in a new position upon his return. He was suddenly very popular.

It wasn’t that he had been a loser or an outcast before – he liked to think of himself as well-known but not too important – but now he found himself at the center of attention. The night of the fight had become some sort of myth amongst the students.

Those present that night had apparently sworn not to tell a soul about it since they would all face expulsion should the story get out. But some details still managed to slip, though they varied depending on who told them.

Fedya heard multiple versions that week, and none of them really came close. One stated that Fedya had lost his eye and had spent weeks getting cosmetic surgery to cover it up. Another that he’d broken several bones from falling from a window. The wildest theories composed of Fedya being in debt and some gang members had found him at the school. His personal favorite was that an old-fashioned duel had taken place.

Pierre's name was not mentioned once.

Anatole told him discreetly that he and Hélène had worked overtime to cover up the whole thing. They had spread so many rumors and stories so no one could possibly put the details rightly together. No one but those who saw it all would ever know what had happened that night.

Fedya liked the idea of the whole thing being handled like a myth. It somehow made everything a little less real.

Thankfully, the excitement only lasted a little over two weeks. By then, the rest of the school realized they would never quite know the truth, and turned back to the daily drama. Fedya didn’t mind the attention shifting away from him. He wasn’t born to the spotlight. And even if he was, he had no way of enjoying it.

When he wasn’t in class, which was strictly observed by teachers and didn’t leave room for any kind of fooling around, he was forced to spend his free time in his room. He was no longer allowed anywhere near non-class related activities, which included Anatole’s fencing tournament. Something he had to make up for. Not that he complained.

What he could complain about was the boredom. Having nothing else to do, all his free time was now spent studying, or in bed with either Anatole or Hélène. That resulted in his grades improving more than ever, and Fedya constantly walking around a bit sore.

The twins had put it upon themselves to entertain him during his prison sentence. Especially Hélène.

She was his lifeline to the rest of the school. Gossip was her second language, and whatever happened, she dutifully passed on to him, so he didn’t miss out on a thing. Fedya didn’t really care about who kissed whom, or who had somehow managed to sneak a joint into the school. Still, he liked being included and appreciated that Hélène understood this.

Anatole, however, quickly began to tear on Fedya’s nerve. While they screwed each other as only horny teenage boys could, he was clearly still head over heels in love with Natasha Rostova. It annoyed Fedya, who thought going to the hospital would at least earn him Anatole’s full attention, but no. When he wasn’t dragging Fedya into bed, he kept reminding him about his promise.

A love letter.

Fedya had to write a freaking love letter.

He understood why Anatole had come to him. Anatole was dramatic, poetic even, but he couldn’t write to save his life. The pen and the paper were his greatest enemy, and this, as he repeated several times daily, was the most crucial letter he would ever write. There was no room for mistakes, as was evident by the pile of discarded letters he showed into Fedya’s face, who didn’t hold back a laugh at Anatole’s unsuccessful attempt at being romantic.

“I don’t see why you just can’t text her,” he said one evening when Anatole was moping around on his bed, complaining that Fedya apparently valued his homework more than Anatole’s love life.

Anatole sat up with an indignant facial expression. “Fyodor Ivanovich Dolokhov!” Fedya groaned, once again regretting telling Anatole his full name. “How can you say that?” Anatole stood up and began pacing their small room, turning dramatically on his heel whenever he reached a wall. “This isn’t _any_ girl, you know! This is Natasha. _Natasha_ , Fyodor! Her beauty and grace deserved better than a _text_.”

Fedya mumbled that Anatole hadn’t had a problem in the past using his phone to seduce the girls of the school, but Anatole either didn’t hear him or ignored him.

“This girl is special, I tell you. Special.” He stopped his pacing and stared off into space, a dream-like look on his face. Fedya sighed and rested his chin in his hand. While he found Anatole insufferable during his fits of romantic declarations, he was still too good looking for Fedya not to stare at him.

“You could just tell her that in person, you know.”

“Absolutely not,” said Anatole, waving a hand dismissively at him. “A letter is the way.”

“An old-fashioned way.”

“Exactly!” grinned Anatole and threw himself back unto the bed. “Romance is an old game, dear Fedya, and girls love it when you do the classics.”

 _Or get your friends to do it_ , thought Fedya, and drew a doodle at the corner of his English assignment. Anatole went on.

“The dance was the true turning point, but the school rules work against me.” He said it like he was a hero of a tragic opera or something. “I need time to woo her, and dinner is just not the place for romance!”

Ah yes, Anatole’s romantic attempts. Every dinner, he’d forsaken Fedya and Hélèna in favor of Natasha. The girl was so popular amongst the students, it had become a daily race to sit beside her. Fedya had been amused at first, seeing Anatole sprint across the room to get there fast enough, and then return looking like a dark cloud when he failed.

On the other hand, seeing him sit like a preening peacock beside her was almost just as entertaining, if Fedya hadn’t felt like he’d been slapped each time Anatole leaned in and whispered in her ear.

Even worse, Natasha liked his undivided attention. Other boys did their best to get close to her, but no one could compare with Anatole Kuragin.

Fedya didn’t really know what it was that made Anatole so… entrancing. His mere presence drew people to him with the gravitational pull of a shining star. Or maybe a black hole. His smile and body always beckoned everyone near him to come closer. It was like he had an aura of self-love and enjoyment that people couldn’t help but want to get mingled up in, Fedya included. A light seemed to shine from Anatole, and Fedya felt warm when he was near him. And freezing cold whenever he wasn’t.

A double-sided coin. And it flipped daily.

“An e-mail is out of the question,” said Anatole, like the suggestion – which Fedya hadn’t even made, by the way – was an insult to his quest for true love. “And no one gets wooed over texting. No, a letter, a true love letter is the right way.”

“If you say so,” said Fedya.

“I do!” said Anatole and stood up again. The fencing team was letting up on the training in favor of the heightening load of homework, and as a result, Anatole seemed to have more energy than usual. He resumed him pacing, sighing and saying Natasha’s name like it was a blessing and a curse all at once. Fedya nearly gagged. “But it must be written correctly, Fedya, it’s essential.”

“Why don’t you just write it yourself?” said Fedya tiredly. Anatole’s hand curled around his neck, and his face appeared very close to Fedya’s.

“I need you to write it, dear Fedya,” said Anatole, his voice deep and smooth, his blue eyes staring into Fedya’s with an intensity that made him weak in the knees. “I need you for this.” His warm fingers found their way into Fedya’s hair, and his eyes closed at the pleasurable feeling.

“Besides,” whispered Anatole, and Fedya opened his eyes when he shifted, kneeling down before him and tugging until he turned in his chair, so Anatole was between his legs. Fedya’s mouth went dry at the sight of Anatole before him, eyes gleaming and fingers already opening his trousers. “I will make it worth your time.”

Anatole didn’t just suck cock. He worshipped. And he did it with such an ease that one might suspect he’d been born to do it.

And he knew Fedya. Anatole had him hard in seconds flat and leaning back in the chair while gripping Anatole’s hair with a hand.

He could make Fedya beg, and they both knew it. He could draw it out or finish him in a minute. He had his friend at his mercy and loved it. On his knees, he might have looked submissive, but they both knew he held power. Anatole loved it and used his skills to get the wanted result. And he always got it.

Fedya would write that fucking letter, as long as Anatole didn’t stop. As long as he kept doing _that_ with his tongue and fingers. As long as he hummed in pleasure when Fedya accidentally tugged a little too hard on his hair. As long as he looked up at Fedya through those long eyelashes, pupils blown with the pleasure he got from this. As long… as long…

After coming with a gasp into Anatole’s mouth, Fedya realized that he would probably do anything for Anatole, as long as he got this. These short, intense moments of fire where Anatole was his, and only his. He was like a dog, faithfully waiting for his master to return to him. He would wait forever, patiently for Anatole to finish with whoever he drew into his arms, his bed, his heart, if only he would look back at Fedya and smile at him. Kiss him.

He would do anything if only he could feel those hands on him and hear that voice laugh at his jokes.

If only he could be near him, Fedya would do anything for Anatole.

It came as a shock.

The realization hit him with a force of a bullet, and he felt how his world shifted slightly around him. Anatole didn’t seem to notice. He got up from his knees and kissed Fedya deeply before laying back on his bed, opening his pants and drawing out his own hard cock.

Fedya watched him almost trance-like.

He had always known he how much their… no, _friendship_ didn’t seem to be a sufficient word to put on what they had, but at the same time, nothing else seemed to fit. He only knew that whatever they had, it meant more to him than his own life.

The knowledge of this had always been inside him, hidden deep down somewhere. But he had never really looked into that corner of his mind. Maybe he hadn’t dared. Maybe he just didn’t have any reason until now.

Anatole had many times become obsessed with a girl or a boy, but it had only lasted a few days, or until he had managed to get them into bed. Then his attention had shifted, moved on to something else. Or back to Fedya.

But Natasha Rostova had caught him as no one else had. The beautiful new girl had him on a string, whether she knew it or not, and somehow Fedya knew a simple roll in the hay wouldn’t cure Anatole of this obsession.

Fedya’s mind saw too many possible futures if Anatole managed to get Natasha, and he didn’t like any of them. Especially since he knew his role in each and every one.

Standing behind Anatole, waiting for him to turn around and finally notice him.

The realization settled inside Fedya with cold clarity.

There was no way this would end happily, at least not for him. His future was painfully simple if all this continued, and worse of all, he didn’t have a choice.

Brief moments of warmth were worth a lifetime in the cold.

“Fedya,” moaned Anatole from the bed. He had his hand around his cock, which was hard and glistering. “Come here.”

Fedya obeyed. He didn’t notice standing up. He walked over to Anatole and joined him on the bed. Anatole stretched out like a cat and hummed when Fedya took him in his hands. It was so familiar. He moved his hands in the way he knew Anatole liked.

Anatole, in return, closed his eyes and seemed to disappear into the pleasure. Fedya watched him intensely, suddenly scared that if he looked away, he would somehow lose this moment forever. Anatole reached for him, grabbing him by the arm, the throat, holding on as Fedya’s hand moved faster. His chest rose and fell, his beautiful lips parted.

Fedya was lost at the sight, his eyes staring intensely on those lips, still swollen from sucking off Fedya. When Anatole came, his lips moved silently, eyes fluttering briefly before closing. A rosy tint flooded his cheeks, and he relaxed back into the bed. Fedya buried his face in Anatole’s neck, inhaling his scent and trying desperately to hold back tears.

Anatole’s lips had formed her name at the height of his pleasure.

 _Natasha_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think I'm getting better at the sex stuff, but it's probably just wishful thinking.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so this is the beginning of... I don't really know. Enjoy!

"You're an idiot," said Hélène and sat down beside him. Fedya had his head placed in his hand, poking his fork around in his stew. Stew. Always stew at this bloody school.

"Nice to see you too."

She huffed and pushed her own plate aside, turning in her chair to look at him. "Why did you say yes?"

"Please be more specific," said Fedya in a dead tone.

"The letter," hissed Hélène and nudged him with her elbow. "Are you a masochist or something?"

He felt a sharp-toothed grin run over his face and stabbed a piece of meat with his fork. "Maybe." Hélène watched him with a worried look, her beautiful forehead lined. She shook her head, and he finally noticed something different about her. She was very modestly dressed. One might even say to proper school standards.

"Who have you been playing with?" he asked and dropped his fork in favor of reaching out towards the designer silk scarf she had tied around her neck. He hooked a finger into the fabric and pulled it down, exposing her pale, slender neck, and the massive mark on her skin. She slapped his hand away, and he grinned.

"None of your business," she said and fixed the scarf.

Fedya was actually impressed. He knew from experience how much it took to pin down Hélène long enough to leave such a mark. Not that his attempts had ever been successful. The art of hickeys was lost on him. To act as a living vacuum cleaner had never been his strongest skill, and he had never left a mark as impressive as the one on her neck. His were mostly small, barely visible pink smudges.

Anatole, however, had mastered it to perfection, so one practically had to pry him off with a crowbar when he managed to attach himself to one's neck. Fedya had never minded, usually proudly wearing the mark like a battle wound. He hadn't gotten one in a long time.

"Was it Pierre?" he asked. Hélène gave him a withering look.

"Of course not."

"Then, who?"

She didn't answer and looked down at her plate. Was that… shame on her face? Now, this caught his attention. Hélène didn't get ashamed about anything. Frankly, he thought she didn't even possed the ability to be ashamed.

"What happened?" he asked. She clearly didn't want to talk about it, the look she gave him told him as much. "Come on, you can tell me."

"Nothing happened," she said in a low voice. "Just… this guy…"

"Did he force you?" Fedya asked, his own misery suddenly forgotten. He sat up straight, given the crowd around them a look.

"No, no, nothing like that," said Hélène. "No, he saw me with…"

"With…?"

"With… Sonya."

Fedya stared at her. "As in Sonya Akhrosimova, the Headmistress' _daughter_?" The look he got was all the answer he needed.

Well…

This was new.

Hélène hadn't shown interest in the girl before. _Girls_ , yes, definitely, but never Sonya. As far as Fedya knew – which admittedly was very little – the girl was perfect. A girl who never had a wrinkle in her uniform or a bad grate in her books. She was a model student and an example all teachers gave when talking about the school.

Fedya admired the girl. In his own way.

If his mother had been the head of his school, a model student wouldn't exactly be his lot in life. Rebellious by nature, he might have been a pure disaster if he had to represent his family like that. Sonya, however, bore the weight of her family name and her mother's position with the utmost care. She was a good girl.

Which was why it surprised him she had fallen in with Hélène.

"How did you manage that?" he asked.

"I have been talking to her for some time. Weeks, actually," said Hélène a little moodily. "Tole made me talk to her so I could get more information about Natasha to him. Sonya, she… she is a good listener." She chewed her lip in a very un-Hélène kind of way.

Fedya suddenly remembered a night after Hélène had come, moaning with his head between her legs. She'd had a far off look on her face, one he hadn't thought all that much about. Hélène's mind wasn't always easy to understand. After all, she had dated Pierre.

Now he wondered if she had thought about Sonya.

First Anatole and now Hélène. Fedya was losing them both. Along with his appetite.

He pushed his stew aside. Across the hall, he saw Anatole sit by a table, surrounded by girls, Natasha amongst them. Sonya was there as well, but she wasn't looking at Anatole like the others. Now that he looked at her, he noticed how she kept glancing towards him and Hélène. He caught her eye, and she flushed red before looking down.

Well, fuck.

"Hey," said Hélène and touched his arm. He forced himself to smile as he looked at her, but it felt too sharp and too cold.

"What?" he also sounded way too cheerful. Hélène frowned slightly.

"It doesn't change anything," she said. "Besides, Nicolai saw us."

Nicolai Akhrosimova. Sonya's brother, and probably more of a model student than his sister. The two of them could easily match the twins as the schools most popular if only they tried. They had the beauty and the money, but they also had a mother who was the head of the school.

Fedya had little knowledge of Sonya and even less of Nicolai, who he found dangerously dull. He once had to work on some school event thing (the memory of that week was somewhat blurry thanks to a new shipment of rum from Balaga) with the guy, and he was pretty sure his brain cells were killing themselves during those short four minutes they talked about decorations.

"What did Prince Boring do, then?" he asked, trying to sound interested. He didn't really care.

"He freaked out," said Hélène. "Like he'd never seen two girls together." She scoffed at the mere idea, but Fedya thought it might actually be true. Nicolai seemed like such a good boy; he might not even have seen porn before.

Or maybe it was just the sight of his sister sucking on another girl's throat like her life depended on it that freaked him out, but Fedya could be wrong.

"He needs to toughen up a bit," he murmured.

"Tell me about it," said Hélène. "He yelled, and they got into a fight. Sonya ran away crying, and then he threatened to have me expelled if I ever came close to her again."

"Very original."

"I know." Hélène looked miserable, and Fedya, despite it all, felt bad for her.

"I'll help you," he said, making her look up at him with a surprised expression.

"Really?"

"Of course," he said, his smile as sharp and cold as before. He was now truly beginning to understand what he would do for the twins. How much he would push himself aside to be near them. Make them happy. "I'll take care of Nicolai, don't worry."

Hélène grabbed him by the shirt and drew him into a wet, messy kiss, and he had to agree with her.

He was an idiot.

~*~

Despite not being allowed to wander out of his room after school hours, Fedya wasn't under observation all hours of the day. Teachers rarely came to the students' halls, and he knew all the prefects from Balaga's club, so they tended to look away. It wasn't that hard to sneak out.

It was weird, however, that there were still parts of the school he had never been to before. As he wandered down the stairs, the smell of chlorine drifted towards him long before he even reached the pool.

Through the glass of swing doors, he saw the swimming team was busy with their training.

It had taken a bit of asking around until he got the exact time for the team's practice hours. The school's sports teams had never interested him, aside from his own club, of course, and had therefore never sat a food near the pool. Even during gym class, he had preferred football or badminton.

He entered the area, screwing his nose a bit at the smell, and went to the spectators' seats, finding a chair while looking across the water. Several boys were swimming back and forth; their black cap covered heads bobbing up and down in the water.

He wasn't the only one watching. Several girls and boys were lounging around on the seats, calling out encouragingly to the swimmers or sticking their heads together, giggling. One girl did nothing to hide the phone she was using to take pictures with.

Fedya had no idea how to tell the swimmers apart. They all wore the same swimwear. Black shorts, black caps, and black goggles. And they were all pretty ripped. Fedya had never cared for swimming before, but seeing so many well-sculpted bodies crawl out of the pool, dripping with water, made him understand why so many were watching the training sessions.

One body, in particular, caught his attention. Taller and more broad-shouldered than the other others, the boy heaved himself out of the water with arms that had no business being that muscled. Fedya watched a bit entranced as the swimmer removed his cap and goggles, showing wet brown hair and blue eyes before reached for his towel. Fedya caught himself gaping a bit and decided a school uniform was a real crime against such a body.

When the initial shock of seeing Prince Boring in only a pair of speedos wore off, Fedya was able to push aside the surprising flash of arousal he felt and began to study the boy. While he wasn't as handsome as Anatole – no one was, to be honest – he still had a pleasant face with fine lines. In a few years, his cheekbones would probably be sharp as granite, and Fedya almost wanted to run his fingers over them, feeling the hard edge beneath the soft skin.

Nicolai sat down on a bench and dug around inside his bag after a bottle of water. As he drank, his gaze became distant. He looked lost in thought, and Fedya wondered if the bloke might be reliving finding his sister on top of another girl. He should count himself lucky. Not many got to see Hélène at another's mercy.

After a while, he put his cap and goggles on again and jumped into the pool. As he swam underwater, his whole body moving like a rolling wave, and Fedya couldn't help but enjoy the show.

Maybe it was his rather active sex life with the twins, but just looking quickly became boring, and his mind began to drift.

To be honest, he wasn't sure what his end goal with Nicolai was.

The problem was clear. Hélène had talked to Sonya after the dinner and returned, telling Fedya she wouldn't get together with Hélène unless her brother approved. Which he clearly didn't at the moment. He guessed that either meant Nicolai didn't approve of his sister dating a girl or that he didn't approve of his sister dating _this_ girl.

Didn't really leave him a lot to work with. Changing Hélène was out of the question. Even if she suddenly took a full turn to the good side, she still had a reputation, and honestly, it would be dull as hell. She was perfect. Maybe he just needed to convince Nicolai of that. At least he hoped that was the case. If Prince Boring disapproved because his sister was dating a girl, then there wasn't really much Fedya could do.

Threaten him, maybe? Probably not a good idea. And would hardly be effective in the long run.

His first instinct was actually to seduce Nicolai. If it was the fact that his sister had made out with another girl that bothered him, Fedya just had to get him into bed. That could result in Nicolai realizing the same sex thing wasn't a big issue.

Or Fedya would merely have something to blackmail him with.

That thought was quickly pushed away. Fedya wasn't a good guy, but he wasn't that much of a bastard. Sleep with Nicolai, sure, but nothing else. He couldn't do that, not even for Hélène.

Besides, Nicolai was much larger than him. Not as large as Pierre, who had flung him around like a ragdoll, but still large enough to beat him down if Fedya tried anything.

Maybe he was looking at it all wrong. There was no need to think about a solution when he didn't even know the problem. Which meant he needed to talk with Nicolai.

Now that would be a fascinating conversation.

He spent the next hour or so just watching Nicolai and the rest of the team, trying to come up with a plan. At the end of their practice, the girls watching jumped down to join the swimmers beside the pool, fawning over them and giggling loudly. The boys didn't seem to mind at all. Except for one, and wasn't that interesting.

A girl was during a classic routine with Nicolai, giggling, throwing her hair and touching his arms. He did not look interested. At all. He almost backed himself straight into the pool to get away from her.

Very interesting.

Nicolai grabbed his towel and made a number out of rummaging through his bag. And then he suddenly looked up, straight at Fedya.

Fedya gave him his best smile and a small wave. Nicolai just frowned and turned his back to Fedya.

Right.

Deciding he might need some more time to think about this, Fedya left the pool area. On a hunch, he looked back as he went through the doors. As they swung closed, he just managed to catch Nicolai's eyes.

Very, very interesting.

He sneaked back to his dorm without being discovered. The small thrill of breaking the rules again dimmed a bit, though, when he was met by Anatole, who nearly yelling at him as he entered their room.

"Where have you been?"

"Taking a walk," said Fedya calmly. Anatole looked downright offended.

"What about my letter?"

Fedya sighed. "I had some things to take care of."

"Please, nothing can be more important than my happiness, Teo! Please write it, will you."

Keeping any comments to himself, Fedya grabbed a notepad and a pencil from his desk and sat down on his bed. He tapped the pen against the paper a few times, trying to think of something that would appeal to Natasha.

It was ridiculous, he didn't know the girl at all, and he had no wish to anyway.

Anatole lay on his own bed, trying not to seem too impatient. The book he was pretending to read was upside down. He looked adorably stupid, and Fedya shook his head, looking back at the notepad, and began writing.

~*~

An anxious Anatole was the most annoying, irritating, punch-inviting Anatole in the world.

Fedya had finished the letter after two days, writing and re-writing it again and again until he was finally satisfied. It wasn't easy getting all of Anatole's demands down on paper, mostly because most of them were embarrassingly cringy. In the end, Fedya had just taken control and written the entire thing himself.

He may have gotten a bit carried away, but since the letter was supposed to come from Anatole, who was drama shaped like a human, he doubted Natasha would find it strange if the letter was a bit out there. Fedya was quite satisfied with his efforts and hoped this would be the end of Anatole's romantic quest.

He was a fool for believing that.

Anatole handed Natasha the letter after school and then walked around like a man close to a breakdown the following days.

"She hates is," he kept saying to himself over and over again. "She hates it, and she hates me."

"No, she doesn't," answered Fedya also again and again, but Anatole didn't even listen to him. Fedya tried several things to get his mind off Natasha, but even his skills in bed weren't enough.

Plus, having sex with Anatole had lost a bit of its charm. While he still had a hold over Fedya, which could be described as godly, Fedya always suspected Anatole of thinking about Natasha. Fedya didn't mind being used shamelessly in bed, but he refused to be a substitute for someone else.

That also meant he hadn't been with Hélène for a while now. The loss of her presence was difficult to handle, mostly because she was better at bringing Anatole out of his panicked state than Fedya was. But he also missed her. Missed what they used to have.

Everything was slowly changing, and Fedya didn't like it.

So, he tried to stay busy, not thinking about how his chest felt a bit more hollow each time Anatole said Natasha's name.

Instead, he focused on his homework and his new mission. Nicolai.

Fedya had never actively sought out gossip about his fellow students – he had Hélène for that, after all – so having to figure out Nicolai's classes and schedules was new to him and made him feel like a stalker.

He still wasn't sure how to handle this. At first, he hoped everything would work out by itself, but Hélène soon came to him, saying Sonya didn't even want to talk to her anymore and begged him to keep his promise. Seeing no other choice, Fedya began working.

His main idea was still to speak to the guy. To try and find out what his problem was. Unfortunately, they didn't have any classes together, and Nicolai rarely spent any of his free time on dry land. Hélène told him what she knew.

"Swimming is his life," she said in an almost conspiracy-like tone during dinner. "His dream is to join the Olympic team. He's almost obsessed."

That Fedya could believe. He had managed to sneak out of his room and watch the swimming team train a few times now, and Nicolai barely left the water at all. He swam like his life depended on it. It was quite a sight he had to admit.

Fedya had made sure to make himself noticed every time he visited the pool, though he wasn't sure if it had any effect on Nicolai. He looked at Fedya once in a while but only seemed to care about his training.

"You need to get him outside training," suggested Hélène when he told her this.

"He doesn't do anything but train," said Fedya. "He goes to class, swim, and sleeps. I don't even think he eats, to be honest."

"Join the team then," she said. Fedya stared at her. "What?" she asked.

"Me swimming?"

She gave him a suggestive look. "You have the body." He nearly snorted.

"Funny. If you can't help, then get lost."

She shrugged but stayed and came with less than helpful suggestions.

In the end, Fedya decided to continue watching Prince Boring, hoping to find something. Wasn't a lot, to be honest, but it helped him stay occupied.

~*~

As January ended, Anatole all but freaked out when a letter one day was pushed beneath the door to their room. It was from Natasha, and Anatole almost fell out of bed in his hurry to get to it. He tore it open and read it with a smile Fedya would call slightly mad.

"She loves me!" he cried, throwing his hands in the air and almost jumped up and down like a child. "She loves me! Look, Fedya, look what she's writing." He thrust the paper into Fedya's face, so he only saw a blur of words.

"Yeah, looks like it," he said and blinked several times to restore his vision as Anatole removed the letter. "So, what now? You ride off into the sunset together?"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Anatole and stared at the letter like it was a map leading to the holy grail. "She's almost mine, don't you see. A little more time and I'll have her."

Fedya frowned. "What do you mean?"

The smile was definitely mad now, as Anatole looked up from the letter. "I must have her, Fedya."

"Anatole, listen," said Fedya and reached out to grab his hand. "She's only fifteen. Calm down a little."

"I was younger than that," said Anatole, his each again on the letter.

"She's not you. She's a young girl in a school she has barely attended for five months. If she really likes you, then a quick fuck will ruin her."

"I won't fuck her. I'll make love to her."

"That will only twist her head even further," said Fedya and pulled at Anatole's hand, jerking his attention away from the paper. "Listen, if you really love her, then you'll be in a relationship with her and treat her probably. Not… make love to her and then throw her aside."

"I'll do no such thing," said Anatole, but the mad look was still on his face.

"You're graduating soon, remember? She still has a year before she leaves school, and a fiancé waiting for her on the outside."

Anatole tore his hand away. "You're not making sense, Fedya. You can't possibly understand this. You haven't been in love."

Fedya stared at him, really intensely, to try and find something in those blue eyes to indicate that Anatole didn't really think like that. It was like a punch to the gut.

"Right," he said and stood up from his bed. "Right."

"Where are you going?" Anatole asked.

"To take a swim!" Fedya yelled back and slammed the door behind him.

He marched down the hallway, not caring if a teacher saw him. He had no idea why he had said that, but now that the thought had entered his mind, a swim did sound like a good idea. He had seen first hand how distracting it was, and right now, he needed not to think. At all.

_You have never been in love._

He punched a wall as he passed it. Fucking Anatole.

It was well past curfew, and there was barely any light turned on in the school halls. The darkness didn't bother him, though, and he easily found his way to the pool, his feet knew the way by now. The smell scratched his nose, but he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

As expected, it was dark, but lights inside the pool were turned on, giving the place an eerie atmosphere that reminded Fedya of a lifeless cave, or a mausoleum. There was no sound except for the soft humming of a machine somewhere. Even the water was silent.

He headed for his usual seat and sat down heavily, looking out across the still pool water.

Without the swimmers splashing around and the fangirls screaming, it was like a whole other place. A whole other universe, not otherwise seen in this school. He tapped his foot on the floor, and it made an echo that bounced around the room before dying out and leaving it just as quiet as before.

Sighing, he leaned back in his seat.

What was wrong with him? He honestly didn't know.

Once again, it felt like Anatole had broken his heart, and he still wanted nothing more than going right back to him. It hurt like hell to have to listen to Anatole ramble on and on about Natasha. It had barely been bearable before; now, it was torture.

And while he hated it, he hated it more than he would still do everything he could to help Anatole.

He would help them elope if that's what Anatole wanted.

The water was so still in the pool. Nothing disturbed it at all.

Fedya stood op and pulled his sweater off. He threw it aside and walked down towards the water. His t-shirt went the same way, disappearing somewhere between the seats. He kicked off his shoes and socks, feeling the surprisingly warm water against his bare feet.

Now the water moved. Small ripples ran over the surface and disappeared. He moved his toes slightly, earning small splashes that echoed around him.

Screw it.

He took off his pants, letting them fall on the edge of the pool. They soaked up the water at once.

Fedya looked down into the water. A single lamp was visible deep down there, and he wondered if he could swim down and touch it, break it, turn it off and just be in the darkness.

He lifted his foot, stepped forward, and let himself fall into the water.

It was like falling into another world. For a second he was weightless, surrounded by water and bobbles, before he felt the water push him up, forcing him to break the surface.

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. His hair was longer than he thought, and it clung to his forehead and reached his eyes. He wiped it away and licked his lips, tasting the chlorine on his skin.

He gripped the edge of the poll with his hands, letting his body float to the surface of the water. He enjoyed it much more than he'd thought he would. The hall was filled with the echoes of lapping water as Fedya moved around, loving the weightlessness.

He pushed himself away from the edge and treaded water before returning to the safety of land. He did this a few times and then looked down into the deepness beneath him. The light down there looked strangely twisted through the surface of the moving water.

He grabbed the edge tightly and tensed his muscles. Keeping his eyes on the light below him, he pushed himself down into the water, making sure to keep his body as straight as possible. He shot down fast and deep, but just as fast it ended, and he was pushed up again. Gasping a little, he gritted his teeth and climbed out of the water and stood on the edge instead.

He raised his arm and jumped into the water as straight as he could. When the force of his jump slowed, he began to swim down. It was a clumsy swim, probably very ineffective as well, but he kept going down. His ears popped, and his lungs began to protests far too soon for his liking. He kept going.

The light was still far below him. Air forced itself out of his mouth, floating past his face in large bubbles. His vision was blurry; his lungs screamed. He kept swimming, frustrated that the light was still out of reach.

His arms and legs protested. Black dots began to appear before his vision.

Why was the light so fucking far away? Maybe if he just reached out…

He was pulled up so fast his ears popped again, and all he could see was a swirl of colors as his head broke through the surface. He spat out a mouthful of water and gasped for air.

The gasping turned to a cough, and Fedya was barely aware of being dragged through the water until the hard edge of the pool dug into his chest. His hands grabbed the slippery surface, and he held on as he coughed. 

"Are you freaking insane?" said a voice beside him, sounding out of breath.

Fedya looked through his dripping bangs and blinked the water out of his eyes. Nicolai was beside him, dressed in a white shirt and pants, and soaked to the bone. He was beside Fedya in the water, water running down his face. His cheekbones were even sharper up close.

"N-No," Fedya gasped. It felt like his lunges had curled up, refusing to expand enough to draw breath in. He bowed his head, letting his forehead touch the edge of the pool. Water moved around his face, threatening to drown him if he wasn't careful. Nicolai thought so too, for he put his hand on Fedya's shoulders and pulled him back.

"Get out of the water, come on," he said and hoisted himself out. He grabbed Fedya by the arm and pulled him out. He flopped gracelessly down on cool tiles and rolled unto his back. It was easier to breathe now. His feet were still in the water, which now seemed dangerous instead of comforting.

"What the hell were you doing?" asked Nicolai, sounding less winded now. Fedya threw an arm across his eyes.

"Taking a swim."

"Looked more like drowning to me," said Nicolai. Fedya's laugh sounded hollow.

"Yeah, I wouldn't put it past me."

Nicolai didn't say anything to that. For a moment, only the water made a sound in the hall. No more quiet. A thought struck Fedya. He lifted his hand and looked at Nicolai, who sat beside him, an arm thrown over a raised knee. He was dressed in trousers and a shirt, but his feet were bare.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Nicolai looked at him with a _are you kidding me_ look. "Are you seriously asking me that?"

Fedya nodded. Nicolai shook his head like he barely believed this. "I forgot my phone after training. I was on my way to the changing room when I saw you in the water. You weren't moving." He swallowed, and Fedya thought he looked slightly pale.

"So, you jumped in after me?"

Nicolai's voice almost drowned out the echo of the water. "I thought you were dead."

Fedya's mind was painfully slow. He stared at Nicolai, who actually seemed a little shocked. His clothes were clinging to his body, and the shirt had become see-through. Just as with his cheekbones, his muckles were even finer up close. And he had jumped into the water to save him.

"Thanks," said Fedya and let the arm fall back down to covers his eyes.

"Yeah, sure," mumbled Nicolai. Fedya heard him draw a deep breath. "Come on; we need to get you warm."

Fedya didn't feel cold. Pleasantly cool, perhaps, but not cold. Still, he let Nicolai help him up on his feet. He couldn't answer when asked where his clothes were, so Nicolai made him sit down on a bench and produced a towel from somewhere and wrapped Fedya up like a child. Then he disappeared.

Fedya sat on the bench and looked at the water in the pool. It was turning still again, only disturbed when Nicolai walked past, and his feet graced the edge of the water.

Slowly Fedya realized what had just happened, and he pulled the towel closer around him, feeling his body begin to shiver slightly. This was a new one.

It wasn't unnatural for him to lose his mind and do something crazy. The night of the fight was a prime example of that. It was a strange mindset he entered when he was like that. This had been different. He'd just wanted a swim.

Nicolai returned with a bundle of clothes under one arm and helped Fedya stand up before he could dwell too much into it. "Changing room," was all he said and steered Fedya through an opening and down a small hall, all covered in white, cold tiles.

Fedya had never been in the changing room and didn't bother looking around. The shower part of it looked just like any other public shower, and Nicolai carefully steered him beneath the warm spray of one of the showerheads, removing the towel before it could get soaked.

Fedya moaned in pleasure as the warm water hit his head and back. He began to shake for real now and pressed his closed fists against the wall in an attempt to make them stop. A loud splash made him jerk around.

Nicolai was beneath his own showerhead, pulling off his soaked clothes and dumping them on the floor. Trousers, shirt, and finally underwear. Fedya stared, half hoping his bangs would hide how wide his eyes had become. Even hanging softly, Nicolai was large.

It felt weird to look, so he turned away. He was still wearing his own underwear. Where had his clothes gone?

"You should take them off, too," said Nicolai. "Wash them and get the chlorine out of the fabric, or it will stick and begin to smell."

Right. Smell.

Fedya's hands shook as he tugged his boxers off. It was difficult, it was like they had shrunk, and he pulled and kicked until they flew from his foot and landed somewhere across the room. Nicolai snorted, but Fedya couldn't look at him.

There were soap dispensers on the wall, and Fedya reached out, pouring a large amount into his hand. He scrubbed his hair and body. A sideways glance told him Nicolai was doing the same, but he was also watching Fedya carefully like he feared he might bold and run back into the pool. Not fucking likely. Fedya wasn't going back in there any time soon.

Rinsing out the rest of the soap, he finally stepped out when he felt like the heat was threatening to scald him. He reached out blindly and felt the towel being pressed into his hands. He wrapped it around him and looked at Nicolai. He was holding the bundle of clothes, and Fedya now recognized it as his.

"Found your trousers in the pool. The rest still got wet, but… not… not so much," Nicolai said. "I have some extra you can borrow." He nodded towards the changing room, and Fedya followed him, wrapping the towel tightly around his waist. Nicolai handed him a stack of soft clothes. T-shirt and sweatpants, both in the school's prime blue color and with the crest right in the middle of the chest.

"Thanks," mumbled Fedya and dressed. He had no underwear, but that was the least of his concerns. Nicolai also dressed in something similar and grabbed both their clothes. Fedya watched as he held it under the spray and then wrung the water out. He felt his ears heat up when he spotted his underwear in Nicolai's hands.

When he was done, he put the pile of wet clothes next to Fedya.

"It's not the best, so better get this down to the laundry room before they start to smell," he said. Fedya just nodded before clearing his throat.

"Did… did you find your phone?"

Nicolai looked surprised for a moment. "Oh, yeah, I did." He dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out an iPhone. It was the latest model. He put it away and motioned a little with his hand. "We should get going. It's late." He handed Fedya his shoes. Fedya stared at them for a moment, not able to understand how Nicolai had found them.

"Come on. This way," said Nicolai.

They left the changing room and stepped directly into a hallway. Fedya was glad he didn't have to pass the pool again and eagerly followed Nicolai, who let him back to the staircases easily. The school was so dark.

"Did you sneak out?" asked Fedya, knowing how hypocritic his question was. Nicolai shook his head.

"I was having tea with my mother and was on my way back when I remembered my phone. I had a hall pass," he added and then chuckled. "Useless now, of course."

"Why?" asked Fedya puzzled.

"Had it in my pocket when I jumped in the water."

"Oh."

When they reached Fedya's floor, they parted ways.

"Goodnight, Fedya," said Nicolai. "You can just give those back whenever you can." He nodded towards the clothes Fedya had borrowed. Then he turned and left Fedya, who never got to say anything.

Standing alone in the hall, Fedya shook himself. He had never before felt like such an idiot. He had no idea what had happened in the pool, but whatever it was, Nicolai had witnessed it all. Fucking hell.

Hélène just had to live without Sonya, Fedya decided. There was no way he was going anywhere near Nicolai now. The sooner he forgot all this, the better.

"Sorry, Hélène," he muttered and entered his room. It was dark inside. The sound of soft breathing from Anatole's bed was all to hear, and Fedya realized that Anatole had fallen asleep without waiting for him to return.

He threw his wet, still-chlorine-smelling clothes aside on the floor and took off his shoes. He slipped into bed and fell asleep. He dreamed about water and lights, and strong hands pulling him away. He woke up before he figured out what they were pulling him away from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never believed it when authors claimed their stories and characters suddenly did something on their own, making their own story or whatever, but after writing this, I have to apologize. I know what they mean now. Fedya jumping into the pool was never in my plans. No idea how it happened. Oh well.   
> Also, I really don't think this is a suicide attempt on Fedya's part. He's just slightly crazy, so I won't tag it as such. 
> 
> And a reminder, this is the beginning of the Fedya/Nicolai romance, or whatever it is.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the shit show. 
> 
> It's so weird editing this after writing so long ago. I don't even remember 87% of this. Ah, well.
> 
> Thanks for the comments. I suck at writing back but please know I appreciate all of them. Also thanks for the kudos!

When he woke, Fedya felt heavy in both mind and body.

As he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of Anatole’s empty bed.

Reaching for his phone – which was still blocked thanks to Anatole’s many, many attempts at unlocking it. 23 days and 14 hours remained until he could reaccess it – it told him it was 9:30 am, and that it was Saturday.

Putting it away, he tried to get back to sleep. He had already missed breakfast, and no important events were happening at the school since it was the first weekend of the month. Those days were usually reserved for a day trip to the nearby village.

Getting a seat on Balaga’s small, ancient bus to the village was first come first served, and the trip usually took three hours each way. The lucky students who managed that would return with sweets, clothes, and whatever they could get from the small local stores.

Fedya had never bothered to fight for a seat. He didn’t have money to spare for something like that. Besides, he usually spent the day with Anatole and Hélène. None of them had awakened him, so he took a wild guess and decided they apparently hadn’t included him in whatever plans they’d made for the day.

He ducked back beneath the covers, which smelled strangely. He brought his arm to his nose and took a sniff. The smell of chlorine still clung to his skin, reminding him rather suddenly about what had happened the night before. He screwed his eyes shut.

It felt like a distant memory or even a dream.

Swimming around in the pool, diving down. Nicolai pulling him out of the water. It didn’t feel like it had actually happened. But he still smelled and felt a heaviness in his head. And a wonder. What the fuck had he tried to do?

He didn’t want to think about it and hoped desperately to fall asleep again. He just wanted to sleep, and maybe even dream of something nice for a change. He somehow managed to slip into something that could barely be called sleep, but it made a few hours pass, for when Anatole roughly pulled his covers away, jerking him awake, it was almost time for lunch.

“You smell weird,” said Anatole after sticking his nose into Fedya’s hair, but didn’t seem to think more about it. His cheeks were pink, and his hair was wet. Without asking, Anatole told Fedya about his morning stroll outside with Natasha.

“It was like a dream,” he sighed and stood before the mirror, fixing his hair. “It began to snow suddenly, and she was freezing, so I wrapped my coat around both of us.”

Fedya did his best to not look up as he dressed. He carefully folded the t-shirt and sweatpants he had… borrowed from Nicolai, and dressed in his own old jeans and a plain shirt. Thankfully, they didn’t have to dress in uniform during weekends, which was good, for his was still a soggy mess in the corner. He ignored it and hid the borrowed clothes beneath his bed.

Anatole dragged him down for lunch, prattling on about his time with Natasha, not caring than Fedya neither commented on his tale or even seemed interested.

Despite missing a bus-full of students, the hall was still pretty packed during lunch. Weekends had the same eating rules as dinner, so Fedya and Anatole found an empty table by the wall and sat down with their lunch. Fedya still felt like someone had wrapped his head with bubble wrap, and had trouble focusing on anything except the pasta on his plate.

“I have a plan, you know,” said Anatole suddenly and Fedya blinked rather owlishly at him.

“What?”

“A plan,” said Anatole, sounding so excited Fedya was sure it was a horrible, _horrible_ idea his friend was having.

“What kind of plan?” he asked because Anatole wouldn’t tell him unless Fedya seemed interested.

“I’m finally going to bed Natasha.”

The fact that he said _going to bed_ instead of _fuck_ or _making love to_ made Fedya groan. Anatole spoke like a man from Victorian-era, believing himself to be in love, but Fedya knew better. This obsession wasn't love. It couldn’t be.

“Oh,” he then said, and it was enough for Anatole to continue.

“Yes, it won’t be easy, but when is romance ever?” he grinned and leaned back in his chair. His eyes were far away. When Fedya didn’t answer, he continued. “The details aren’t set yet, but I think I know how to do it. As you know, Natasha has a room in the girl’s dorm, but she also spends some night at the aunt’s apartment in the east wing.”

“Are you planning on stealing her away from under the Headmistress's nose then?”

“Every knight must face a dragon,” said Anatole, and Fedya buried his face in his hands. This wasn’t happening. Anatole clapped him on the shoulder. “No one will know. I haven’t told anyone but you.”

Oh, what a relief. Then it was only up to Fedya alone to talk Anatole out of it. No pressure then.

“And when are you planning to do it?” His question was muffled by his hands. He refused to lift his head, afraid that the lovestruck look on Anatole’s face would make him want to punch him.

“Valentine’s day.”

Fedya’s resolve broke instantly, and he raised his head. “A week? You’re really giving me a week’s warning on this?” Anatole rolled his eyes.

“Eleven days, please don’t be so dramatic, Fedya.”

“Pot, kettle,” said Fedya and pointed at Anatole, who ignored him.

“Besides, it’s not like we’re eloping or anything. I just need to sneak her out of her room and into ours. Easy-peasy.”

“ _Our_ room? Why our room?”

Anatole gave him a look. “Where else should I bring her?”

Hell, if Fedya knew. But he wasn’t going to stay in the room if Anatole slept with Natasha in there. No fucking way. He would rather go to the hospital again.

“And how do you plan to do it?” he asked. The words had an iron-like taste, and when he swallowed, it seemed to bloom in his mouth. He poked around his mouth with his tongue, finding a sore spot on the inside of his cheek. He’d bitten himself and hadn’t even noticed.

“I’ll figure it out,” said Anatole, confident as always. He put his hand on top of Fedya’s. “With your help.”

_Anything for you_ , Fedya had said when Anatole asked him to write a love letter, and once again, he felt the words on his lips. His eagerness to please this boy, his friend, and playmate. Lovers had never been the right word for them. He had never known the right word. Now he realized he would never know.

But it was too late. The look in Anatole’s eyes held him in a way he couldn’t explain. The clear realization he had felt so many nights ago once again hit him with the power of a train.

Even if it was against his will, his lips formed a smirk. “Of course.”

~*~

He hid from Anatole for the rest of the day. It wasn’t hard. Anatole had disappeared over to Natasha's table when he was done eating, wanting to spend all the time he could with her.

Fedya didn’t get why he didn’t just fuck her there and then. No better time, and honestly, it would shock no one. But he suspected Anatole actually cared about his first time with Natasha. He wanted it to be special.

Fedya spent his day wandering around, carefully forgetting that he wasn’t allowed to. His first instinct had been to go down and train at the shooting range, but he wasn’t allowed there either. The pool somehow entered his mind unwanted, and Fedya pushed the thought aside, forcing himself to turn into a hall leading the opposite way.

He ended up in the library, searching the bookshelves for _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_. It was foolish, but he craved a certain comfort he knew he could never get at school. Maybe the book could give him… something.

He found an old copy — a very old one. The front page had no pictures, and the title was in faded golden writing. Inside, it was the story he knew.

He took it with him into a corner of the library and sat down on the most comfortable chair he could find. The bookshelves towered above him, and he felt safe and hidden away.

He welcomed how easy it was to get lost in the story. It was nice and reminded him of cold winter nights in front of the fire, just him and Juliya. It was a childlike escape from the mess he felt his life was becoming.

He was so engrossed in the book; he didn’t notice someone had slipped into the chair beside his. Even then, it wasn’t until the person coughed slightly that Fedya looked up. Nicolai smiled weakly at him.

“Hey.”

His first instinct was to run. His second was to throw the book into Nicolai’s face, and then run. Common sense won out in the end, and Fedya did neither. Instead, he lowered the book slightly, giving Nicolai what he hoped was an indifferent look.

“Yes?”

Nicolai had apparently expected more from him and seemed a little taken aback. Fedya realized this was the first time in a long while he had seen the other boy up close and not dripping wet.

He had stylet his hair. Not as wild as Anatole, which was probably for the best. Fedya suspected no one, but Anatole could actually wear that hairdo without looking ridiculous. Nicolai was less flamboyant, sporting a style that said he had clearly done his hair but hadn’t tried to show anything by it.

He was dressed in black trousers and a jumper that fitted him so well Fedya could almost see the shape of his abs through the fabric. The memory of seeing him naked flashed inside his mind, and he resisted the urge to lift the book up in front of his face.

“Just wanted to see if you were okay,” said Nicolai, sounding a bit defensive. Fedya nodded, closing the book.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m fine.”

“That’s good,” said Nicolai and then began to fumble with his hands. Fedya waited for him to say something else, but then a thought struck him.

“How did you find me?”

Nicolai gave him a small smile. “I looked?”

“You looked for me?” Fedya narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“I just wanted to know if you are okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” said Fedya before he could stop himself. Nicolai gave him a deadpan look.

“Because I had to drag you out of the pool last night?”

“Keep your voice down,” hissed Fedya and took a look around. It seemed like they were alone, but it was still easy to hide amongst the bookshelves. He was already wandering around when he wasn’t allowed to. If it got out he’d sneaked into the pool in the middle of the night, he would be expelled at once.

Nicolai raised an eyebrow. “What, afraid the books might hear you tried to kill yourself?”

Fedya bristled. “I didn’t try to kill myself!”

“Right, you just wanted to see how deep the pool was,” said Nicolai, again with that deadpan look on his face.

He wasn’t entirely wrong. Fedya had dived after the light, not the bottom, but he wasn’t going to tell him what.

“So, what if I was?” he said and stood up. Nicolai did as well and followed him when he walked down a narrow path between two bookshelves.

“Tell me why?” said Nicolai, following close behind him. Fedya gritted his teeth together. What was wrong with this bloke?

“None of your business,” he said and pretended to look for a book on the shelves. He had ended up in the astronomy section and reached for a random book and flipped it open, hoping Nicolai would leave him alone. A picture with a description of the solar system greeted him. In French.

“You’re really nailing the _thank you_ , by the way,” said Nicolai.

“I thanked you.” Fedya tried to walk away, but Nicolai stepped in front of him.

“You were in shock,” said Nicolai. “Doesn’t count.”

“What? You won’t leave me alone until I say thank you?” Nicolai nodded. All right then. “Thank you,” said Fedya dryly. Nicolai gave him another deadpan look. What the fuck?

“Are you going to do it again?”

Fedya looked down. “No. Now fuck off.”

Nicolai ignored him. “I need to be sure.” His hand touched Fedya’s shoulder, and he reacted without thinking. The book dropped to the floor, and his hand seized Nicolai’s wrist in a tight grip, turning him around. He put a hand between Nicolai’s shoulder blades and forced his chest against the shelf.

“Don’t–“ he began but was cut off as Nicolai moved. Faster and stronger than Fedya, he reversed their position with one flowing movement, pressing Fedya face-first again a large book spine, and kept him still with a firm hold on him. Instinctively, Fedya tried to get free, but Nicolai placed an arm across his back, pressing him against the shelf. Then he took Fedya’s hand and twisted it, pulling it up to his shoulders until the strain became almost painful.

“Calm. Down,” Nicolai whispered, standing too close.

“Let go!”

“Not until you calm down.”

“You’re fucking insane!”

Nicolai snorted. “Says the guy who tried to drown himself.”

“I didn’t try to – _arh_!” Nicolai tugged slightly at his arm, sending a flash of pain through his shoulder. “Okay, okay! What do you want me to say?”

“Promise me you won’t do it again.”

“What the hell do you care?” spat Fedya. To his surprise, after a few seconds, Nicolai released him and stepped back. Fedya cradle his arm close to his chest, wincing a little as his shoulder felt sore. As did his cheek. He could feel a line on his skin from where it had been pressed against a book. At least it wasn’t permanent.

He looked over his shoulder at Nicolai, who didn’t look totally comfortable with what had just happened. He actually looked embarrassed, eyes on everything but Fedya. He bowed down, and when he straightened up, he held out the book on astronomy, and _The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe_. Fedya had dropped both.

Carefully, and with eyes never leaving Nicolai, Fedya took the books.

“Just don’t do it again,” said Nicolai, and walked away, leaving Fedya alone between the bookshelves. Only then did he notice how hard he was breathing. He felt sweat run down his forehead and tried to take a calming breath.

Everyone was going mad. Or was it just him? He let the books slip out of his fingers and placed both hands on his head, fingers buried in his hair. He sank down until he sat on the floor, still holding his head between his hands.

Then, suddenly, he got pissed off. Anger he hadn’t felt in a long time surged through him like a wildfire. He sat up straight, his hands falling down. What the fuck was Nicolai’s problem?

He jumped to his feet and ran out of the library. Nicolai was walking down the hallways to his right, and Fedya ran after him. In three steps, he reached him, grabbed him by the shoulder, and turned him around. Nicolai looked shocked, and Fedya felt deep satisfaction at having caught the fucker by surprised.

Then, without thinking, he sent his fist flying into Nicolai’s face, hitting him on his perfect cheekbone. It might have hurt Fedya more than it did Nicolai, who barely flinched, but it still felt good.

“Don’t fucking touch me again,” he hissed, resisted the urge to cradle his hands close. It hurt, but he ignored it. Nicolai touched his cheek, glaring at Fedya, who loathed that Nicolai was taller than him. He hated looking up. Then Nicolai punched Fedya.

Once again displaying his superior strength, the punch made Fedya stumble sideways and crash against the wall. It also momentarily blinded him, hitting a little too close to his temple, and he blinked wildly as his feet fumbled beneath him. He crashed to the floor. When his vision returned, he was lying on his back, looking up at Nicolai, who seemed horrified by his own action. His hands were hovering over Fedya like he didn’t dare to touch him. For some reason, Fedya began to laugh. Hard.

Now Nicolai looked truly frightening, probably thinking he might have knocked something loose in Fedya’s head. Fedya couldn’t stop laughing. His cheek hurt, hell, everything seemed to hurt. He couldn’t stop laughing.

Tears sprang to his eyes, and he laughed until it turned into sobbing. The tears rolled down his cheeks, and he curled up, half trying to hide them, half not giving a damn.

A soft thump beside him and a gentle hand on his shoulder told him Nicolai had joined him on the floor.

How he ended up with his face pressed against Nicolai’s thigh, he would never know, and he would for the rest of his life pretend it didn’t happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one, I know, but cutting this into chapters hasn't been easy. 
> 
> BTW - if you ship Anatole and Fedya like insane, just know there might be more stuff with Nicolai from now on. Just FYI in case you want to jump ship (Haahhh)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, another time for Fedya to fuck up. This boy... remind me to apologize to him someday

Dinner was soup, which was good since Fedya wasn’t sure he could chew anything. His jaw hurt when he moved it, and he had to slurp his meal rather loudly.

Nicolai sat apposite him, doing the same, though not in nearly as much pain as Fedya, whose cheek was a large bruise. Nicolai barely had a red mark, that bastard.

They sat in a silence none of them had broken since the hallway.

When Fedya had finally cried himself out, none of them had moved at all. The crying had earned Fedya an almost blinding headache that had nothing to do with the punch Nicolai had given him. His cheek had throbbed painfully, but he’d still pressed it down against Nicolai’s thigh.

Nicolai’s hand had never stopped the soothing motion on his back, and despite the pain behind his eyes, Fedya had been close to falling asleep. He probably did. For suddenly, Nicolai pocked him on the shoulder and showed him his wristwatch. It was dinner time. Still in silence, they had gotten up and walked down to the hall. Fedya had expected Nicolai to leave him, but he'd surprised him by following him to the table.

It earned them a few looks from their schoolmates, and Fedya couldn’t blame them. It was weird. He no doubt looked like a mule sitting beside a full-blooded stallion or something. Nicolai was easily in the same class as Anatole, except he’d always behaved like it was a duty instead of means to a good time.

If the twins had been better people, they would actually qualify as the perfect friends for Nicolai, class wise. But it was Fedya sitting with him now.

After almost seven years attending the same school and only a handful of conversations, Fedya found it strange that in less twenty-four hours, Nicolai had (probably) saved his life, helped Fedya back to his room, assaulted him and being assaulted in return, punched him and then being punched in return, and then let himself be cried on. And now they were eating dinner together. If Fedya’s head weren’t already hurting, this would no doubt do the trick.

He didn’t know what to do with himself now. After all, it was a little too late for just casual conversations.

Even if he wanted to talk – which he really didn’t! – Fedya had no idea what to say. Everything was already awkward enough, and Fedya crying unto Nicolai couldn’t possibly have made it better. 

The thought made him want to drown himself in his soup.

Everything was so wrong lately.

This wasn’t like him. His emotions were all over the place. He couldn’t seem to control them, or himself. It wasn’t good. When he got like this, he tended to end up in a windowsill drinking or getting into a fight with his schoolmate. 

Or jump into a pool in the middle of the night.

Something was wrong with him, and he had to fix it fast before he actually killed someone. Or himself. He just didn’t know what to do.

Nicolai had asked him why he’d been in the pool. What was he supposed to say? _Hey, I’m probably unhealthily in love with my best friend and will do anything for him despite him always stomping on my heart. It kind of makes me crazy, so thank you for dragging me out of the pool, and sorry for hitting you._

Nope. Talking was out of the question. What he probably needed was to disappear. Maybe being confined to his room might actually be the solution to his problem for once.

Or maybe not.

At that moment, Anatole walked into the hall in his usual swagger. Natasha was holding his arm, beaming and looking very beautiful. Anatole was telling her something, making her laugh when he spotted Fedya by the table. His smile dropped instantly.

His eyes went in petulant speed between him and Nicolai before they narrowed.

With a firm grip on Natasha’s arm, he steered her over to a table across the hall. He kept staring at Fedya over her shoulder for the rest of the meal.

Nicolai seemed to notice something was up, but Fedya dove into his own cowardice and fled the hall before Nicolai could even open his mouth to ask.

It felt weird, not knowing where to go. His room didn’t seem safe, nor neither did the library. He ended up grabbing his coat from his closet and then went outside.

Anatole had been right about the snowing. It covered the large grassy area by the front door and made the trees look very Christmas like.

Balaga’s bus stood by the school gates, still radiating heat from the old engine. Even from this distance, Fedya could hear the clanging of tools and a string of colorful curses.

With a grin that made his cheek hurt, he began treading through the snow.

Balaga’s upper body was hidden beneath the bus. Fedya stood beside it, listening as the man cursed the living hell out of the ancient machine.

“… and if you don’t, I’ll tear you apart and sell you to a toaster factory. Say _ping_ and shoot bread out is all you’re gonna do, you worthless piece of–“

“Hey, Balaga,” said Fedya. He heard a clonk and then a curse before Balaga scooted out from under the bus. His annoyed, oil-smeared face broke into a smile when he saw him.

“Fedyof!” he said and jumped to his feet, drawing Fedya into a hug that not only dirtied his coat but also threatened to crush his ribs. “How are you, boy!”

“Good, good,” gasped Fedya and stumbled back a few steps when Balago released him. “How are you?”

“Fighting with ol´ Clara as always,” said Balaga and clapped the hood of the bus with a tender look in his eyes. “She’s has temper today.”

“I believe you,” said Fedya and sat down on the toolbox. Balaga opened the door to the bus and stuck his head inside, emerging with two beers.

“You are a saint,” sighed Fedya and drank deeply. Balaga snorted.

“Bet you need your drink, lad, haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I’m grounded,” explained Fedya. “Can’t leave my room outside of class.” Balaga laughed, his voice a deep booming sound across the snow-covered grounds.

“So, you suddenly start following the rules?”

“Of course not!” grinned Fedya and spread out his arm. “I’m here, aren’t I?” He drank from his beer. It wasn’t vodka – oh how he missed drinking his brain out – but it was nice. And Balaga was good company.

“How’s it going with… that, by the way?” asked Balaga after a while, and motioned with his beer towards Fedya side.

“Good, no permanent damage at all.”

Balaga bobbed his head. “Glad to hear. Not gonna do something like that again anytime soon, I hope.”

“Fuck no. I’m not fighting anyone ever again, believe me.”

Balaga took a swig from his beer and then nodded. “Good. Don’t fancy hearing you scream like that again, lad.”

Fedya didn’t remember screaming. He didn’t remember much from that night, actually. But he’d been told what Balaga had done for him.

“Thank you for the help, by the way,” Fedya said, knowing this small show of gratitude was long overdue.

Balaga snorted into his beer. “Not the first time I help my fine gentlemen, and it won’t be the last.”

“Yeah, next year, some other boys will do stupid, drunken things, and you will save their asses as always.”

Balaga held out his beer. “One can always hope.” With a grin, Fedya clicked their bottles together. A cold breeze swept over them, and he shivered as he lowered the bottle.

Finishing his beer, Balaga shook his bottle upside down, sending drops unto the ground. “You should get going, or you’ll freeze your balls off.”

Fedya glanced at the school behind him. “Can’t I stay here a while?”

Balaga regarded him with a thoughtful expression, one Fedya had never seen on his face before. “Fine, but you better hand me what I ask for.” He pointed at the toolbox. Fedya grinned and finished his beer.

“Here,” said Balaga and draped his giant sheepskin coat over Fedya shoulders. “I’m not gonna carry you to bed if you get a cold.”

Grateful, Fedya tugged the coat closer around him. He sat down beside the toolbox and handed Balaga the tools as he worked.

A good three hours – and a cold and numb ass later – Fedya said goodnight to Balaga and sneaked back into school. An old clock he passed told him it was nearly ten, so there was still a chance for him to be caught by a teacher. But his luck seemed to last. All the halls were empty, except for a couple of students making out by a pillar outside the history classroom.

Without disturbing them, he sneaked by and got back to his room. He had expected it to be empty, since Anatole didn’t waste any time before curfew to be with Natasha, and was surprised to see him there.

Anatole was lying on his bed, reading a book, and looking dashingly fine. He didn’t look up when Fedya entered.

“Hey,” said Fedya and took off his coat and shoes. His hands and toes were freezing. Anatole didn’t answer.

Fedya dug around in his closet after the socks his mother had knitted for him and quickly put them on. Then he dived for his bed, crawling under the covers.

He waited for Anatole to say something, but nothing ever came. Finally, Anatole got up to get ready for bed, and Fedya sneaked a look at him as he changed into a plain t-shirt. Despite it being rumbled from lying on the floor, it still suited Anatole. Everything suited him. Fedya wondered how it must feel to be so flawless.

Not that he was. Anatole had plenty of flaws; they just weren’t visible on the outside. No, his outside looked perfect. Sculped by the gods or something like that. Years of fencing had given him a lean, muscled body that moved like nothing was left up to chance. The smallest movement seems effortlessly calculated. Anatole could speak with his body, and right now, it seemed to scream _get away from me_.

Fedya had never seen Anatole walk like that, hunched over and eyes on the floor like he was battling the questions of the universe. It was all very un-Anatole.

Fedya didn’t want to look at him. He turned his eyes towards the ceiling and concentrated on wiggling som heat back into his toes. Anatole’s question then came out of nowhere.

“So, are you fucking Prince Boring now, then?”

He froze and then looked at Anatole, who was staring at him from across the room. “No.”

“Then why are you sitting together?” asked Anatole with more than a bit of venom in his voice.

“We just did. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Right,” mumbled Anatole. “Goodnight.” He turned his back to Fedya and drew the covers up over his head. Fedya held back a sigh.

It took hours before he fell asleep.

~*~

Sundays always began with church. The school’s religious tradition was as old as the school itself, as was the chapel where every student was expected to be at eight-am sharp. It was one of the few things one could not skip out on. Dinner? Yes. Classes? Sometimes. Church? Never.

Being as far from religious as one could be, Fedya never enjoyed the Sunday mornings in the cold chapel. He had, however, found the perfect seat behind a column where he could nap without being seen by the teachers or the priest.

Usually, Anatole would nap with him. Lie his head on Fedya’s shoulder and sleep off the vodka, but they had barely entered the chapel before Anatole left Fedya and instead sat down on a pew near the front. Next to Natasha.

Swallowing down a mix of disappointment and bitterness, Fedya took his favorite seat, relieved that the column also served to block the view of Anatole and Natasha sitting close together. What a win-win.

While being exhausted, he somehow didn’t feel like napping after seeing that. Instead, he made himself as comfortable as he could on the ancient pew and looked around the chapel, bored out of his mind.

His caught sight of Hélène sitting a bit off to his right, and next to Pierre. Strange, he was sure they were over by now. Not that he would know, he hadn’t talked to Hélène for days.

He was a little taken aback by that realization. He and the twins were always together, and now he couldn’t remember the last the time they’d hung out. Anatole would rather be with Natasha. Hélène was pining after Sonya. And Fedya…

Fedya was hiding behind a column, so he didn’t have to watch Anatole being taken away from him.

He cursed himself slightly. What was he thinking? He’d never had Anatole in the first place. They fucked, laughed and drank, and then fucked some more, but Fedya had never had Anatole like he genuinely wanted him. Instead, he had just settled with what he could get, no matter how painful it could be.

Having a little of Anatole was better than not having him at all. He’d always believed that, but now…

His eyes drifted around the chapel, eyeing the other students. A few listened to the priest, but most seemed bored or downright sleepy. Most of them were so lost in thought that they barely noticed the priest finishing his sermon.

As church ended, students woke up and began the struggle of leaving the chapel so fast as possible. Fedya stayed where he was, not in a hurry at all. He waiting in his seat and watched Pierre leave, his seize making the other kids part like the red sea before him. Behind him came Hélène. She was constantly glanced over her shoulder towards Sonya, who was talking to her mother. Hélène looked truly unhappy, and Fedya felt for her. He was so occupied by her that he didn’t notice someone slip into the seat next to him. He nearly jumped into the air as Nicolai spoke.

“Can we talk, please?”

“About what?” he asked and tried to sound casual. In truth, his fight or flight instinct was beginning to kick in.

Nicolai rubbed the back of his head. “About… everything? I need to understand what happened.”

Fedya snorted against his will. “Which time?”

Nicolai’s smile was small. “Both? But, really, can we talk?”

“Now?” asked Fedya and glanced around a little nervously.

“Please.”

Fuck. This was precisely what he didn’t want to do. He caught sight of Anatole, who for once wasn’t looking at Natasha. Instead, he was staring at Fedya and wore an expression Fedya had never seen on his face before and had absolutely no idea what meant.

But he _was_ looking at Fedya. Fedya and Nicolai.

“Yeah, sure,” said Fedya and stood up. Nicolai did as well. “Come, let’s find somewhere to talk.” Not looking at Anatole, he left the chapel with Nicolai at his side.

~*~

Usually, Fedya’s after-church-activities consisted of hanging out with the twins or getting some more sleep. Now, Fedya found himself in unusual company and on his way to one of the common rooms in the school. He usually avoided them since someone had always taken possession of the television, either showing sport or some chick flick film — none of with interested Fedya even the slightest. Today wasn’t an exception.

A group of girls had gathered and was watching a movie that looked very pink and glittery. They giggled and laughed loudly whenever something happened on the screen.

Nicolai ignored them and led Fedya to a corner where a pair of comfortable chairs waited.

“Alright, shoot,” said Fedya as he sat down.

“What is wrong with you lately?”

Right. Fedya had to admire Nicolai, he didn’t beat around the bush.

“Please be more specific,” he said and slumped down in the chair. He tried to seem indifferent. Maybe Nicolai would drop it then.

“Okay, let's start with the pool. What were you doing?”

“Swimming,” said Fedya. “Isn’t that the point of the pool?”

“Could you… stop?” said Nicolai more forcefully than expected. “If you don’t care about yourself, fine! But I found you in there, I dragged you out of the water. Had I been a little slower, I would have dragged your dead body out instead.”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” muttered Fedya. “Wasn’t planning on doing anything. It just happened.” It was as true as he could ever explain it. He honestly hadn’t tried to… whatever Nicolai thought. He’d just wanted a swim.

“What about the library?”

“Reflects,” said Fedya. “You surprised me.”

“Oh, please, you acted like I came at you with a knife.”

“Yeah, well.” Fedya shrugged. He didn’t know what to say. He truly didn’t.

He didn’t know why he acted like that.

Nicolai was watching him., too intensely for Fedya’s liking. And with worry. Always the worry. Genuine worry and concern, and… Fedya couldn’t stop himself from lashing out.

“Shouldn’t you be watching your sister instead, before she fucks another girl?”

It was a low blow, but it worked. Nicolai flinched, and then he leaned back, his handsome face becoming hard as stone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Like a shark smelling blood, Fedya leaned forward and gave Nicolai a toothy grin while tapping the side of his neck with a finger. “I’ve seen her handiwork. Good with her mouth, your sister. But then again, I heard you saw that yourself.”

Nicolai’s eyes darkened. “Don’t say another word, Dolokhov.”

Fedya tilted his head to the side. “Are you jealous? Is she better than you? Or do you just want a go at Hélène yourself? She might even let you if you ask nicely. She likes having her men crawl to her.”

He saw the hands curl into fists and steeled himself. He actually felt relieved. Anger he could deal with. Fury and hatred were better than concern.

But Nicolai held himself back, didn’t react like Fedya wanted him to. He needed to do something, so this boy, with his perfect cheekbones and unwanted kindness and concern, left him alone forever. He needed him to hate him.

“Or,” he drawled slowly, “maybe you are jealous, not because you want Hélène. Maybe, the one you really want is your own si–“ the blow landed so hard, Fedya was knocked out of the chair.

He laughed as he hit the floor and looked up at Nicolai, who glared pure fury down at him. _Victory_ , he thought smugly.

“You sick…” Nicolai couldn’t seem to find a word bad enough to fit his impression of Fedya, and that was fine with him.

“Hey, I don’t judge. She looks good. Sonya. Can’t blame you if you want to fu–“ the second blow knocked his head back against the floor, making stars dance before his eyes. He grinned and licked his lips, tasting blood.

Nicolai stormed off, leaving Fedya alone on the floor with a spinning head and a bleeding nose.

 _Mission accomplished_ , he knew. Nicolai would never talk to him again.

He really hated himself.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing something I don't remember writing is a trip, gotta say. 
> 
> Anyway, welcome back after a long time. Life been crazy with everything, including moving and pandemic and so on. But here's the next chapter at least. We're almost at the end of this thing. 
> 
> Thanks to all for leaving kudos and comments! Hope you'll enjoy this chapter

“What the hell happened to you?” asked Anatole as Fedya returned to their room.

“Prince Boring is stronger than he looks,” said Fedya and wiped the back of his hand against his nose. Anatole looked confused.

“He hit you?”

“Yeah, twice.”

“Why?”

Fedya shrugged. “He doesn’t like me, I guess. Wasn’t hard to piss him off.”

Anatole was silent as Fedya took off his blood-stained shirt and threw it in the same way as the rest of his dirty clothes. His chlorine-soaked uniform was beginning to stink.

“I thought you two were… friends or something.” Anatole tried to sound like he didn’t care and failed. Fedya could read him like a book.

“Hell no,” said Fedya and snorted for emphasis, making his nose throb painfully. He winched, and blood began to drip again. “Shit.”

“Here, let me help.” Anatole left the room and returned with a soaked towel. He gave it to Fedya to wipe the blood off his face and bare chest and then hold it against this nose.

“Thanks.” He sat down on his bed.

His head was still spinning. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. His bed dipped as Anatole sat down beside him. A familiar, cold hand touched his cheek carefully.

“He did that too, didn’t he?”

“Believe me, I deserved it,” said Fedya and tried not to shiver. Anatole hadn’t touched him in so long.

“I thought you might be fucking him.”

“So, a dude punches me in the face, and you think I’m screwing him? That’s fucked up.”

Anatole laughed, short and light, and Fedya felt lightheaded. His hand was still touching his cheek.

“Yeah, okay. Point taken.”

Fedya didn’t dare to open his eyes in case this was just a hallucination brought on by a very possible concussion. Cool fingers kept stroking his cheek, and he leaned into the touch like a cat.

“For a moment, I thought you had forgotten your promise.” Anatole’s voice was close to his ear, and his breath ran over his cheek. Fedya kept his eyes closed.

“What promise?” he asked, feeling his heart speed up a bit.

“To help me with Natasha,” Anatole whispered, and his lips graced Fedya’s earlobe.

The words made his chest hurt, but Anatole was so close, closer than he had been in so long, and Fedya had never been a strong man. Not when it was Anatole. Never when it was Anatole.

“Could never forget,” he said, voice a bit choked in a way he hoped Anatole would read as excited and not on the verge of tears.

“Dearest Fedya,” said Anatole and leaned in close. He tugged the towel away from his nose and moved so he was straddling Fedya, who still kept his eyes shut. “What would I do without you?”

He leaned down and kissed him. Fedya opened his mouth in a sob. Yes, oh god _yes_.

The familiarity of it all, the kiss, the weight on his lap, the hands cradling his face, it was like coming home. He had missed this so much, craved it. At that moment, it didn’t matter that Anatole had pushed him aside in favor of Natasha. It didn’t matter that he only sought him out because he couldn’t get into her bed. It didn’t matter that he only did this to make sure Fedya wouldn’t leave him for someone like Nicolai. None of it mattered.

The only thing in the entire world that mattered was Anatole’s hands and lips.

“Fuck me, Fedya,” breathed Anatole as he drew back.

Finally, Fedya dared to open his eyes. They met Anatole’s beautiful blue ones. He wrapped his arms around Anatole and flipped their position, pushing Anatole down to his bed and attacking his mouth.

Hands ran over his bare chest, touching, scratching, trailing down his back and into his pants to squeeze his ass. Fedya focused on Anatole’s neck. He breathed in his scent, licked, and bit whatever skin he could reach. His own hand was busy inside Anatole’s sweatpants and felt a thrill run through him when he discovered Anatole wasn’t wearing any underwear.

He leaned back on his knees and pulled the sweatpants all the way off, throwing them aside. Anatole opened Fedya’s pants and pulled them down, reaching out towards his cock. Groaning as the touch, one he hadn’t felt in so fucking long, Fedya closed his eyes. For a moment, he could pretend Anatole did this for him and only for him.

Reluctantly he came back to the real world.

He got his trousers off, and his socks followed. Then he returned to bed, kissing Anatole as he reached down to touch a cock probably more familiar to him than his own. Anatole gasped, his whole body tensing up as Fedya worked him the way that would undo him.

“No,” mewled Anatole. “Not yet, please Fedya, please fuck me.”

Fedya released him and moved his hand down to his ass. His fingers slipped slightly against his skin, and he frowned when they searched the area, finding it wet and more than ready. His finger easily entered Anatole without the slightest resistance. He looked up. Anatole was watching him innocently.

“You prepared yourself,” said Fedya, feeling heat rush straight to his cock at the thought of Anatole fingering himself, waiting for Fedya to come back.

“Didn’t want to waste time,” said Anatole, sweet as honey. The innocent look on his face crumbled as Fedya added two more fingers inside Anatole and curled them. He grabbed Fedya by the shoulders and dug in his nails.

Fedya pressed their mouths together and forced his tongue inside Anatole’s mouth. Anatole let him dominate the kiss. As his tongue was busy tasting every last bit of Anatole, his fingers were busy making Anatole squirm on his bed.

It was amazing. How long had it been since he had Anatole like this? Gasping and twitching beneath him. He knew this body so well; he could make him come just from this.

But he didn’t want to. Anatole had asked him to fuck him, and he would.

When he broke the kiss, Anatole was a gasping, shivering mess. His cock was hard and leaking drops of pre-cum onto his stomach.

He drew his fingers back and reached for a condom. The box was hidden beneath his bed, and he ripped it open with his teeth. Anatole, still shaking slightly, reached out to stroke his own cock – Fedya groaned at the sight – as Fedya rolled on the condom.

When he was ready, he kissed Anatole, who spread his legs for him. Fedya used his hand to line up and slowly pushed into Anatole, who was more than ready for him. The feeling of slipping into Anatole’s tight heat almost made his eyes roll back into his head. Gasping, he pushed forward until he was completely buried inside. Then he stilled.

“Yes,” hissed Anatole, head back and breathing heavily. His arms were thrown invitingly over his head, and Fedya wasted no time gathering them in one hand and holding them down in a tight grip.

He drew back slowly and then thrust in hard. Anatole moaned, and Fedya nearly came from that sound alone.

It was pure heaven. Anatole was so responsive beneath him, tight and warm, and so willing to let Fedya do whatever he wanted. But his eyes were closed.

Fedya slowed his movements, remembering the time Anatole had gasped out Natasha’s name as he came. He didn’t want to see that again. Not ever.

He pulled out.

Anatole opened his eyes and looked up at him. Fedya released his hands and grabbed his hips, forcing him to turn around. He managed to see a glimpse of confusion before his only view was of Anatole’s perfect, smooth back.

He hoisted Anatole’s up unto his knees by the grip on his hips and lined himself up, pushing back inside with a single thrust.

“Fuck me, Fedya,” moaned Anatole. He sank down onto his elbows, head hanging between his shoulders.

And he did. With a tight grip on Anatole’s hips, Fedya began to truly fuck him. Hard and fast, making sure Anatole would feel this, feel him even days from now.

A small part of his mind whispered he was doing it too roughly. Still, the moans and begging from Anatole to go faster, _harder_ , made him ignore everything but the body beneath him and his own desire to ruin Anatole for anyone else.

Anatole gasped. “Touch me.”

“Ask… nicely…” panted Fedya, paring each word with a hard thrust.

“Please, Fedya. Please, touch me.”

Fedya reached down and wrapped a hand around Anatole, stroking him in rhythm with his thrusts. It didn’t take long before Anatole came, gasping and shivering. Fedya grabbed his hips and continued fucking into him until Anatole whimpered. He looked over a shoulder at Fedya, his sweaty hair hanging in tangles across his face. He looked so far from his usual, well-groomed self, and Fedya shivered with the knowledge of having done this to him.

And it was that knowledge that ended it, and all too soon. Pulling Anatole’s hips hard against him, burying himself as deep inside as he could, Fedya came with a groan, forehead pressed against Anatole’s sweaty back.

He clung to him, fingers digging into skin as he finished, gasping for air.

He didn’t want to let go. Despite all hope and longing, he knew as soon as they parted, he would no longer be the only thing on Anatole’s mind.

Straightening up, he saw blood smeared on Anatole’s back. He touched his nose. It had begun bleeding again.

He pulled out slowly, loving the weak moan Anatole gave as he lowered himself down to lie on the bed. Fedya disposed of the condom and reached for the towel, wiping away the blood and sweat. He then ran it over Anatole, who stretched out like a cat.

He threw it aside and lay down, and Anatole wrapped himself around Fedya like an octopus, snuggling in close with his head beneath Fedya’s chin.

“I think I know what to do now,” mumbled Anatole.

“Hmm?” Fedya stroked his hair, feeling sleepy. His head was hurting, but he didn’t care, not with Anatole holding him like this.

“Yeah,” he continued. “I’m not just going to bed her. I’ll give her the best, most romantic night ever.”

“I’m sure you will.” Fedya stroked his hair, waiting for the hollowness to settle inside him. Then he realized it had never left in the first place.

The comfortable feeling of post-sex was fading, and Fedya felt as cold and alone as before, despite having Anatole wrapped around him.

Maybe that was the answer. He couldn’t get hurt if he was already empty.

It would make everything so much easier, but when had his life ever been so? Fedya wasn’t foolish enough to think his pain would end here.

As Anatole began to mutter his plan in a sleepy voice, Fedya barely listened. Instead, he focused on the feeling of their skin pressed together, the smell from Anatole’s har. The soft hair between his fingers.

Tomorrow, Anatole would be back at Natasha’s side, and Fedya would be alone again.

~*~

Being punched in the face several times during a weekend didn’t go unnoticed. And especially not by teachers. Monday morning, Fedya was called into no more than four teachers’ offices to discuss why he looked like he had run into a wall. He lied, of course.

He had fallen. He had slipped on the stairs. He hadn’t watched his steps and walked straight into a pillar. He had fallen out of bed.

He had a hundred lies he could use, though none could explain the injuries better than the truth. But while the teachers without a doubt knew someone had punched him in the face, they couldn’t prove it. Good thing, since one of the conditions of his return was that he didn’t get into any fights.

He wondered shortly what would happen if he told the truth and said Nicolai had punched him. Would they believe him? Would they do anything even if they did?

Nicolai was the headmistress son, and that had to give him some kind of immunity. Fedya was a commoner with a scholarship and on probation. While enjoying a good gamble, this wasn’t a bet he was about to try out. Besides, with his record, and not to mention his recent actions – and whatever would happen during Anatole’s insane plan – it would be a miracle if he lasted until graduation.

Thankfully, he was still a pretty good liar. So, without proof, the teachers, one by one, had to let him go back to class — a small victory. Every time he returned, he glanced at Nicolai to see if the other boy was worried about being ratted out. But no, apparently not. Nicolai didn’t even look at Fedya.

To his great surprise, the only other person beside him and Nicolai to know the truth about his bruises spend the entire day by his side. At first, Fedya thought Anatole merely wanted to plan his romantic night, but it quickly became clear that Anatole thought he had to protect Fedya from Nicolai, or something like that.

When they met the other boy in the hall, Anatole stepped in between them so they wouldn’t touch each other in the crowded paths. He even made sure to sit between them, no matter the distance, during class and when eating. Fedya was touched and didn’t have to heart to tell Anatole that Nicolai was no more of a threat to him than a bunny would be. He enjoyed the attention too much.

It would have been nice, though, to have Anatole present when Hélène came to him, wanting to know how his promise to her went. It wasn’t fun telling her he couldn’t help. She didn’t yell at him as he expected. Instead, she just seemed defeated.

Seeing the tears she fought to hold back, Fedya realized Hélène had changed as well. Sonya wasn’t just another way of passing the time for her. She was much more. And now she was out of reach. Fedya might be swimming around in self-pity these days, but he loved her, and it broke his heart to see her like this. He drew her into a hug, and she pressed her face against his chest. 

“It can still work out,” he tried to assure her. “School isn’t forever, you know.” 

“That’s rich coming from you,” she said. “You act like this is your entire world.”

_It is_ , he wanted to say. When school ended, so did his world. They would leave, probably never see each other again, and he would lose Anatole for good.

As cliché as it sounded, Fedya knew that whatever waited for him outside of the school, there would be no light, no color. Without Anatole, a world of grey waited for him.

He didn’t want that for Hélène. Granted, she wasn’t perfect, or even always good, but he wanted her to be happy. He just didn’t know how to make it happen.

“Come one,” said Fedya and wrapped an arm around her. “I think we need a drink and a talk.”

~*~

Fedya knew his future was in the military.

Getting a top-class education was more than anyone in his entire family had ever had, but he knew university was out of reach. He didn’t care enough for it.

His dad had been a colonel, highly respected by peers and subordinates. Apparently, he had been gifted with a sharp mind and eye for the larger picture. It hadn’t stopped him from being blown to bits in a desert, though. But the sheer number of uniformed dressed men and women at his funeral had made quite an impact on Fedya.

Since then, Fedya knew his future, no matter how silent and withdrawn his mother became when he spoke about it.

He knew he had the mindset for it. He seemed to thrive with the violence. If only he was better at solving problems. Like this one.

This problem meant doing _a lot_ of damage control.

Hélène wanted to be with Sonya. Sonya felt the same but was afraid of what her brother would do if she did.

Fedya only had to make Nicolai agree to leave them alone, and all would be swell. He just had no idea how to do it. He had fucked up royally with Nicolai.

His original plan of just watching the other boy and then see if some idea came up had been thrown out the window the night at the pool. Granted, he had gotten Nicolai’s attention, but also his concern, which Fedya couldn’t work with. He knew he had lashed out. Irrationally even, but he couldn’t help it. Concern was a hairline from pity. He didn’t do pity.

So, damage control. Not something Fedya usually cared about. He rarely looked back, which was probably why he continued to fuck everything up. And he had truly fucked up with Nicolai enough that he doubted the other boy would ever talk to him again. But he had to give it a go.

After a sleepless night, he decided there was no better way to do it but facing the dragon head-on.

After class, he went down to the pool during the swim team's Wednesday training session and waited by the spectator’s seats. Nicolai didn’t notice him immediately, but his face managed to resemble a stonewall when he did.

Fedya was nervous and probably failed to hide it. The others on the team saw him as well, and he knew the bruises on his face still made him look like hell, which no doubt didn’t help his situation. 

As the training finished, Fedya stepped down to the pool, wanting to catch Nicolai, but the swimmer packed up his gear and walked to the changing room before Fedya could even call out his name. Cursing, he decided to wait outside.

The other boys left the changing room after a while. One saw him and went back inside, probably to warn Nicolai that Fedya hadn’t left yet. One by one, the team left, and Fedya waited, counting them all until he knew only Nicolai was left. Then he entered.

Why Nicolai was waiting for him, he’d never know.

Nicolai sat on a bench, packing his towel into a bag. He was bare-chested, and Fedya was as always momentarily stunned by how good-looking the bloke was.

“Non-members of the club aren’t allowed in here,” Nicolai murmured. His eyes stared unnaturally intensely at his bag.

“Already been here,” said Fedya. Nicolai didn’t acknowledge this at all but just continued to move his things around. Fedya sighed. For Hélène. He had to for Hélène. “I came to apologize.”

“I don’t care. Just leave.”

All right then.

Fedya sat down on the bench, leaving a good space between them. Nicolai’s shoulders tensed, but he still didn’t look up. “I mean it. I’m sorry. Truly.”

Finally, Nicolai stopped his fiddling, though he still didn’t look up. Fedya sensed he had to wait now. Nicolai seemed like a person who truly cared about others – the poor idiot – and despite their fights, Nicolai had still pulled Fedya out of the pool. The guy worried about him, no matter how much of an ass Fedya was.

They sat in silence for what seemed like forever. Fedya could hear water dripping from the shower room, and the humid air made him feel warm and a little dizzy, but he stayed put. When Nicolai finally straightened up and looked at him, it was with a guarded expression.

“You look like hell.”

“Unlike you. What are your cheekbones made of? Granite?” His attempt at being witty fell flat. Nicolai looked away with a flash of guilt running over his face.

“I shouldn’t have hit you.”

Fedya moved his jaw from side to side. Still sore. “I probably deserved it,” he said, echoing his words to Anatole the other night. “No, I did deserve it.” He rubbed the back of his head with a hand, deciding he might as well jump off the cliff.

“Look, I’m sorry, and I mean it. I’m an asshole even on my good days, and I took my anger out on you. What I said was cruel and… disgusting. I’m sorry. For real.” He felt like he should get a prize or something. He hadn’t made such a sincere apology since he was ten and accidentally broke his sister’s porcelain doll.

“Still shouldn’t have punched you,” said Nicolai. “Violence is never the answer.”

Okay, that kind of thinking was pretty strange to Fedya. He looked at Nicolai, frowning a bit, and saw that he genuinely meant it.

He really regretted having punched Fedya.

Huh.

“You’re a really good guy, aren’t you?”

Nicolai looked up. “What?”

“Nothing. Never mind,” said Fedya and looked away.

Nicolai was a really decent guy. Like Pierre, but probably with a bit more self-confidence. Fedya shouldn’t even be talking to him. Hadn’t his personality already been rather dodgy, then spending years with the twins had blurred every line in his book to a dangerous degree. His almost felt like he shouldn’t even talk to Nicolai. He might corrupt him or something. Might already have.

Oh, well. He still had a job to do.

“I actually came to ask you for a favor.”

Nicolai turned very slowly to look at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope,” said Fedya and dared to give him a cheeky smile. In return, he got a small, reluctant twitch in the corner of Nicolai’s mouth, but Fedya decided it was good enough. “I know you caught Hélène with Sonya, and–“

“Don’t talk about my sister,” said Nicolai, and abruptly stood up.

“Wait,” said Fedya. “I won’t be mean, I promise.” Nicolai snorted. “I promise, for real! I just want to talk about Hélène.”

“Oh, please, I know everything about Hélène Kuragin. I fact, I think every boy at school knows her.” He sounded disgusted, and while Fedya understood why someone like him probably would, he still felt a need to defend Hélène.

“Yeah, she sleeps around? So what? I know boys who do worse.”

“Like her brother.”

“… Okay, yes, but also other boys.”

“Like you.”

Fedya stared at Nicolai. The accusation was loaded with so much venom it stunned him. Then it pissed him off. Fedya knew he was no fucking saint, and while he happily fucked both twins, he refused to have that label thrown on him.

“I don’t whore around,” he hissed. “I have only slept with two people in my entire life.”

Nicolai looked doubtful. “Really, only two?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“The girls talk about you plenty.”

“They want what they can’t get. I don’t stray.” He looked away, annoyed. “Besides, this isn’t about me. This is about Hélène.”

“Who you’ve slept with.”

Fedya threw his hands into the air. “Yeah, I slept with her, so what?”

“Then how come she is after my sister?”

Finally, it dimmed for Fedya. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That Sonya is just another one in the line to Hélène? For, believe me, that’s not the case.”

“Oh, please, I know more than ten guys who she has dragged off to bed. Even my roommate has been with her.”

“So? She didn’t care about them; she only cares about Sonya. As in, really cares. If I didn’t know her better, I’d say she was in love.” He did know her, and he was sure she was, but saying it to Nicolai felt almost like betraying Hélène. It was too private to tell others.

“I won’t let Sonya be used and then thrown away. She’s not like you or Hélène; she has real emotions, okay.” Nicolai grabbed his t-shirt from the bench and began to pull it over his head.

“Hélène won’t throw her away. She really cares. And what the hell do you mean by that?”

“By what?”

“Not like Hélène or me?”

Nicolai’s laugh was short and cold. He stepped up to Fedya, who hated that he had to look up to meet his eyes. “I mean, that unlike you, she has a heart and a good soul. And I won’t let you or the Kuragin twins taint it.”

Fedya swallowed down his anger and the urge to punch Nicolai. He knew by now how that would end. Instead, he took a deep breath. “Think of me what you want. Even the worst you can come up with is probably true, but don’t say shit like that about Hélène. She isn’t perfect, but who the fuck is? Yes, she’s slept with a lot of guys and even girls, but I know she won’t anymore. She doesn’t care about anyone except Sonya.”

Nicolai’s eyes were green. Very green, with flecks of brown around the irises.

“Give her a chance. That’s all I’m asking. She won’t hurt Sonya.”

They stared at each other. The tension rose, and Fedya could feel it was ready to snap any second.

“She cheated on Pierre Bezukhov,” said Nicolai.

“She won’t hurt Sonya, I swear.”

“She cheated on him with you,” said Nicolai in a low voice. Fedya felt his stomach twist slightly. “I heard about the fight.”

“Yeah, she did,” Fedya admitted. “I don’t think any of us are proud of that story.”

Nicolai’s eyes moved down Fedya. “You really went to the hospital?”

“Yep.”

“Show me.”

Swallowing, Fedya reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and exposing the scar. He jerked when warm fingers graced the skin.

“You’re an idiot then.”

Feyda threw his head back and laughed, releasing some of the tension. “Oh, you have no idea.” The fingers traced the scar’s ugly edge, sending a shiver up and down Fedya’s spine. He held back a whine as Nicolai removed his hand and let his shirt fall down again, slightly disappointed. They were standing so close. Too close. God, his eyes were green.

“Just give her a chance,” he said, almost breathlessly. “Sonya won’t be with her so long as you disapprove of it. She cares too much about what you think of her. Just… let Hélène prove that she cares too. Please.”

Nicolai looked into his eyes. Fedya could smell the chlorine and cheap soap on him. Why the hell was the changing room so damn hot? Nicolai was sweating slightly in his t-shirt, making it cling to him. Fedya had to concentrate not to look down.

“Who’s the other?” asked Nicolai.

“What?”

“You said you only ever slept with two people. Who is the other one?”

Fedya’s mouth was dry when he answered. “Anatole.”

“Isn’t he dating Natasha Rostova?”

Shit. Fedya felt tears gather in his eyes. Why the fucking hell did that have to happen now?

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. He had to look away. Nicolai would see the tears, he would see it all, and then he would once again pity him. And like the coward he was, Fedya lowered his eyes and closed them tightly.

They flew open when a hand gently touched his cheek. He almost jerked back in surprise but froze as those green eyes seemed impossible close. The hand was warm, the thumb gently stroking his cheek, right on the bruise. And then Nicolai leaned in.

His lips were dry but soft and pressed only slightly against Fedya’s, who couldn’t remember being kissed like this for a long time. There was no demand behind it, no heat, merely a soft touch, and a question if it was okay.

Fedya didn’t know. He was surprised, and yet not at all.

Another hand touched him, sneaked into his hair and then down his neck. The feeling of fingers trailing down until the hand rested on his lower back made him shiver. Weakly, he returned the kiss.

Nicolai didn’t dive into it like Anatole would have. He didn’t pull Fedya to him and wrap his arms around him. Instead, he merely increased the pressure of his lips ever so slightly before pulling back.

Fedya couldn’t move. Nicolai stepped away, not looking at him. He bowed down and grabbed his bag, and then he turned to the door.

“I’ll think about it,” he said. “About Hélène and Sonya.” And then left the changing room.

~*~

The weekend came as a blessing for Fedya.

He hadn’t talked with Nicolai since the changing room. Mostly because the swimming team increased their training schedule, leaving little to no free time, but also because Fedya had avoided him like the plague.

He didn’t know what to do.

It was strange to have experienced something like that – something he wasn’t even sure what was – and then not talk to the person about it.

A kiss like that had in Fedya’s book always ended in a bed, and while his body apparently was very on board with that idea, he wasn’t sure it was right. Nicolai was frightening good-looking, and the muckles of his arm had invaded more than a couple of Fedya’s fantasies the last few days. But the kiss had been everything but sexual. Fedya had liked it, and that scared him.

It wasn’t that he… _liked_ Nicolai, was it?

Attracted to him? Yes, definitely. Wouldn’t mind jumping his bones? Also correct. But liking him like he liked…

No.

He’d been with Hélène plenty of time without actually loving her. He cared about her, deeply, but he didn’t love her like he loved–

He just didn’t, all right. He never would, which was probably good since she was into Sonya. He wasn’t sure he could handle any more heartache.

Confusion wasn’t much better, though. So, when Saturday came, and he could avoid every other person in school, either by sleeping or visiting Balaga, he was relieved. Anatole was off training with his team, so when Fedya woke, the room was quiet.

He enjoyed staying in bed for a while, going in and out of sleep until it was time to go to lunch. He didn’t bother to go but instead grabbed what he could stuff in his pockets from Anatole’s stash and then headed outside.

When there was no trip to the village, Balaga usually tended to the school ground, or whatever had been broken during the week. Fedya found him in his workshop that also served as the school’s garage. The bus was parked by the wall, while the teachers' cars, ranging from old to even older, were neatly parked away beneath tarps.

Balaga himself was rummaging around in the back, throwing tools around with a noisy clattering. Fedya went over to his workbench and saw what look like a microwave had been torn apart. He looked over his shoulder and yelled. “Where did you steal this from?”

He heard a crash and then a gruff laugh. “The teachers' lounge,” came the reply. 

“Really?” asked Feyda as Balaga appeared from somewhere. He was dressed only in some old trousers and a t-shirt despite the garage being cold.

“Yeah, someone tried to heat up a cup of soup. Cup was made of metal.”

Even with his limited knowledge about household objects, Fedya knew that was a big no-no. He looked a bit closer to bits spilled out across the table and saw clear signs of burning. “Trying to fix it?”

“Nah, it's dead. Just seeing if its organs can be passed on.”

“Saving a toaster, are you?” Fedya had to duck when Balaga swiped at him, though still with a grin on his face.

“Smartass.”

“Always. And you know it’s winter, right?” Fedya said and nodded at Balaga’s lack of clothes. The man’s only answer was to pull a hipflask from his back pocket and wiggled in back and forth.

“Got all the warmth I need right here, lad.”

“Lend me some; I’m getting cold.”

Balaga frowned but then handed it to him. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Appreciate it,” said Fedya and took a swig. Vodka. He tried to hand it back, but Balaga waved at him, his attention now turned to the burned-out microwave.

“Some of the kids want to come by tonight,” said Balaga. He thoroughly examined each part before either putting it carefully aside or throwing it over his shoulder, not caring where it landed.

Come by. The truly subtle code for _the club is open tonight_.

“I’m still grounded,” said Fedya.

“Not stopping you from coming here.”

“I’m good at sneaking around.”

“And drinking. Gimme.” Balaga took the flask from him and took a long swig before handing it back. “Ain’t the same without you.”

“Fewer fights, I’d imagine,” said Fedya. Balaga laughed.

“Gotta be honest, not missing that.”

“Me neither.”

But he did miss the club. The drinking, acting like a total idiot. Not that he hadn’t done so lately. Idiocy was apparently his new thing. He just didn’t have alcohol as an excuse anymore.

Did he have an excuse?

“I fucking hate school,” he said and swallowed another mouthful of vodka. He was beginning to feel warm now. “Don’t know why you stay here.”

“Only place that wants me,” said Balago in a low voice, barely sounding like himself. Fedya looked at him, realizing he really didn’t know anything about the man. He wondered if he should ask. He didn’t.

Instead, he watched Balaga work for a while. He then suddenly remembered the snacks he had taken from Anatole’s stash. He pulled it out and handed a pack of cookies to Balaga. He ate along with the driver, sitting on old milk crates in the cold garage. It was fun. He left the garage with a light feeling, sneaked back into school with little trouble, and went back to his room to wait for Anatole.

Only, Anatole was already there. With Natasha.

From the door, Fedya saw her legs wrapped around Anatole’s waist. He heard the moans and gasps and the creaking of the bed.

He closed the door and went to the club.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is. The last chapter. Came faster than expected.   
> Must be honest, this still feels like editing someone else's work. I don't know what headspace I was in when I wrote it, and I don't think I can recreate it. Pretty much the reason why I haven't tried to add to the story. Also why there won't be a sequel or anything. I might try an epilogue kind of thing, but no promises. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the last chapter of this shit show!

Drinking was good. Drinking was very good.

Fedya had trouble remembering why he didn't spend all twenty-four hours of the day drunk. Drunkenness was good.

Vodka tasted like shit, but by God, it chased every other shitty part of his life away.

He didn't care at all about anything. Okay, that was a lie. He cared. He cared so much he felt the hollowness in his chest spread out through his limbs. But the vodka at least made it a burning sensation. He waited for it to consume him.

He continued drinking, his high tolerance for alcohol for once working against him.

He wanted to burn away every feeling that still resigned inside him, and he thought he was doing a pretty good job.

At first, Balaga had tried to slow him down, taking the bottle from him, but Fedya was nothing if not persistent.

Balaga had been right, by the way. There were quite a few students at the club that night, all minding themselves but not able to ignore Fedya, who drank for four in the corner. Most of them hadn't seen him in the club since the fight, and they were no doubt waiting for him to do something equally stupid. He gave that a good thought, wondering what could probably beat a trip to the hospital.

He had always wanted to see the roof.

But before he could ask Balaga how to access it, Hélène appeared before him.

"There she is," he grinned from his sprawled-out place on a couch. Hélène did not look amused – too bad, she was gorgeous when she smiled – and stood with her arms crossed before her chest.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she asked.

"Drinking."

"Looks more like you’re trying to turn your blood into vodka," she said and pushed to an empty bottle with the tip of her foot. It rolled beneath the couch. Fedya raised a finger.

"Now, _that_ is a good idea." He eyed his half-empty bottle. "I'm gonna need some more then."

Hélène snatched the bottle out of his hand. "You've had enough."

"Not this time," said Fedya, barely recognizing his own voice. He could still see the image of Anatole fucking Natasha in his head. It was burned into his memory. Nothing could erase it.

A bullet might.

"Don't _ever_ say that again," hissed Hélène, her hands suddenly on his cheeks, forcing his head up, so their eyes met. Huh, he must have said it out loud then. Whoops.

He forced his mouth to smile as charmingly he could. "A joke, Hél. A joke." He patted her hands with his, but she didn't let go. Instead, she dug her nails into his jaw.

"I'll kill you if you say that again. Understood?"

He winced as her nails bit. "Right, got it. No jokes tonight."

"Ever, Fedya!"

He raised a hand. "I promise. Geez, you know how to kill a mood." He rubbed his jaw as she finally retracted her talons. It had barely healed from the bruise, and now it was bleeding. She gave him a look. "Okay, wrong choice of words. I promise, no killing or stuff. Happy now?"

"More than you," she said, still sounding pissed off. "You look like hell."

He laughed. "You should be a poet."

"You’re pathetic.”

“Yes. Came to join me?”

“Came to take you to bed.”

“Oh?” said Fedya and palmed his crotch. “I don’t think I can get it up right now.” She slapped him.

“Pull yourself together.”

“Ouch,” he muttered and touched his now burning cheek. It hadn’t made him sober, but his glare was still steady as he aimed it at her. “I love you, so I’ll let this go. But don’t even do that again.”

She snorted. “Like you could even hit me in this state.”

Fedya fell back onto the couch with a sigh and closed his eyes. “Fuck you.”

“You already have.”

“Not for a while. Not since Sonya.” No answer came. Instead, he felt his legs being pushed off the couch. He opened an eye and saw her sit down beside him, his bottle once again in her hand. “Still no luck?”

“She’s scared Nicolai will tell their mother.” She took a sip of the vodka, but it lacked her usual eagerness.

“He won’t,” said Fedya. She looked doubtfully at him. “I mean it. He isn’t the type to rat others out.”

“How can you know?”

“Oh, believe me, I know.”

She looked at him, searching for the joke she was sure he was throwing at her. There was none, of course.

“You talked to him?”

Talked to him, yelled at him, punched him, got kissed by him. “Yep.” He had done it all. Except fucking him, and honestly, he would be ready to give that a go by now.

Hélène turned, so she was facing him. “What did he say?”

“Well, he called you a whore and is mostly afraid that you’ll screw Sonya and then leave her.” She gaped at him. Fedya was almost glad that he managed to shock her. He thought he had lost that ability. “But then he said he’d think about it.”

She swallowed, looking pale. “W-What changed his mind?”

He pulled at a loose thread on his shirt. “I told him you wouldn’t. Told him you care about her.”

“And he believed you?” her voice was a whisper. Fedya kept his eyes on the thread. If he pulled it any more, it would ruin his shirt. He tugged at it.

“I think so, yeah.”

Hélène made a strange sound, and Fedya looked up in time to see the tears in her eyes before she threw herself at him, pressing her face against his chest. Pure reflects made him wrap his arms around her. Drunk off his ass, he could only hold her.

About an hour later, they made their way back to the dormitories. Fedya had sobered up enough, so he didn’t have to lean against Hélène but instead could have her close to him since she, for some reason, refused to let go of him.

They didn’t talk much. Everything had been said back at the club. After sobbing onto his chest, Hélène had raised her head long enough to say how sorry she was about Anatole before breaking down into tears again.

Fedya wanted to tell her it was okay. That it didn’t matter. Anatole owed him nothing. But he couldn’t. Instead, he just mumbled a thank you and buried his head in her hair, letting his own tears disappear into it.

It wasn’t that easy trying to sneak back, one still drunk, the other an emotional wreck. Thankfully, they weren’t caught, and it went fine until they stood before the door to the boy’s dormitory, where Fedya froze.

“I can’t sleep in there,” he said.

“Maybe she left,” said Hélène, but Fedya just shook his head. It would smell of her. Of Anatole and her, and what they had done together.

“I can’t.”

“Luisa will freak out if she wakes up with you in our room.” Luisa was Hélène’s roommate. A very religious and rule-following girl. The reason why Hélène always came to his and Anatole’s room to tumble.

“I’ll sleep in the hall then,” he said, thinking it was far to prefer over the alternative.

“You’ll just get a cold or something.”

_Still better_ , he thought. He wanted to tell her so as well, but all that left his mouth was, “Please don’t make me.”

“Should I ask Pierre?” she asked after a long moment.

“I’ll just go back to the club,” said Fedya and made to turn around, but Hélène held onto his arm.

“Don’t an idiot, you idiot. Come one. If you don’t sleep in Pierre’s room, you have to go back to your own. I’m not letting you sleep in the hall.”

“Bitch.”

“Come on.” She dragged him through the door and down the dark hallway. At the end, he saw the door to his room. He suddenly felt like a condemned man, walking to his own execution, and began to struggle.

“Fedya!” she hissed and dug her nails into his arms. “For fuck’s sake!”

“Let go!”

“No!”

“That hurts!”

“Fedya!”

A door opened, and a light hit them. They both froze, and then as one turned their heads.

Nicolai stood in the open door, looking confused and like he had just rolled out of bed. His eyes looked heavy, his hair tousled, and he was only wearing sweatpants.

Fedya had no idea who looked more like a deer caught in headlights; him or Hélène. Nicolai seemed to need a moment or so to take in what he was seeing, then the sleepy look in his eyes disappeared, and he frowned slightly at Hélène.

“You’re not allowed to be here.”

Fedya felt Hélène’s hand – still digging her claws into his arm, by the way – turn cold. “I was helping Fedya.”

“What’s wrong with him?” The words were loaded with suspicion. He probably thought they were going to Fedya’s room to have sex. Fedya felt his heart sink.

“He had a fight with his roommate,” said Hélène, apparently not wanting to give away that Fedya was drunk off his ass. “A big fight. He… doesn’t want to go back.”

Nicolai still looked suspicious. There was no way he was missing the way Fedya swayed slightly and the unnatural wide-eyed look he was giving him.

“Where are you taking him?” asked Nicolai.

“I… ehm, I…” Usually, Hélène would always have a reply ready, but this was the guy who could ruin whatever she had with Sonya. Fedya didn’t blame her for being tongue-tied.

“I talked her into taking me to the common room on the second floor,” said Fedya, his words only slightly slurred, and saving her from having to talk. “I can sleep on the couch.”

Nicolai looked at them for a really long time. Then he sighed. “You can sleep in here.”

“What about your roommate?” asked Fedya, feeling panic set in. Sleeping in the same room as Nicolai? Nope!

“Don’t have one. It’s a single room,” said Nicolai.

“Great,” said Hélène and pushed Fedya forward, apparently unwilling to go against anything Nicolai said. Fedya put his heels into the floor, his panic doubling as he looked inside and saw it was indeed a single’s room. With a single bed and no floor space for anything else but a desk.

Sharing a bed with Nicolai? Fucking no!

“Hélène!” he hissed, but the girl was stronger and freaking meaner than she looked. She had barely pushed him into the room before she said thank you and goodbye to Nicolai and then disappeared.

Oh, he was so getting revenge on her. Not that _that_ was on his mind right now. He was more occupied by the fact that Nicolai had closed the door, practically locking them in the same room.

He was in Nicolai’s room.

It looked standard enough. Like his, only smaller. The desk was the same, so was the bed. It was much neater than his. The wall space above the desk was covered in schedules, letters, and sticky notes. The desk itself was organized – his schoolbooks after height, for fucks sake – as was the shoes by the door and what he could see through the slightly open closet door.

It felt like a foreign land to Fedya. He stood in the middle of the small room, not daring to move. Nicolai was still by the door, clearly just as lost.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “So… we better get some sleep.”

Fedya stared, feeling his heart beat like a rabbit’s, as Nicolai walked past him and sat down on the bed. He stood up immediately. “Do you want to borrow something to sleep in?”

_No!_ “Yes, please,” he whispered. Nicolai found an old t-shirt in his closet and handed it to Fedya. He then sat down on the bed again and began fiddling with his phone. Fedya tried to calm down as he took off his shirt.

_Pull yourself together_ , he told himself. _What is the big deal anyway?_

Fedya threw his shirt on the floor and pulled on Nicolai’s, which looked big on him. He desperately wanted to keep his pants on, but they were jeans and really tight fitted. With a sigh, he tugged them off, careful not to look at Nicolai.

Dressed only in underwear and a t-shirt, Fedya cleared his throat. Nicolai looked up and then quickly away. He pulled his covers aside and scooted in, so his back was against the wall. Nervous as hell, Fedya climbed into the bed, hovering on the edge so he wouldn’t accidentally touch Nicolai, who let the covers fall over them.

“Can you turn off the light?” he asked Fedya, who nodded.

In the dark, he only became even more aware of Nicolai, laying barely an inch or so away from him, breathing, radiating heat, and just being too damn close.

They lay there for a while, both awake and both trying to control their breathing. Fedya was convinced it was the loud drumming of his heart that kept Nicolai awake and wanted to apologize. But instead, he whispered.

“Thanks for letting me sleep here.”

“No problem,” said Nicolai, sounding much calmer than Fedya felt.

Fedya tried to close his eyes, but it made little difference. He was wide awake and still drunk. The heat from Nicolai was beginning to spread through him now, but it didn’t make him drowsy. Instead, he thought he would never fall asleep.

Nicolai shifted slightly, and now their shoulders touched. Fedya’s heart leaped in his chest. His mouth was so dry. He didn’t dare to move, for maybe Nicolai would take it the wrong way and then draw back. Fedya liked the small touch of their shoulders.

He froze as fingers touched his arm.

“Are you cold?” whispered Nicolai, and Fedya realized he was shaking slightly. He wanted to say no, but before he could, Nicolai moved closer, pressing against Fedya’s side and placing his arm across Fedya’s chest.

He had to feel Fedya’s heartbeat like this. He had to. There was no way he couldn’t, being this close. Heat flared where they touched, and Fedya swallowed dryly. He was never going to fall asleep now.

But just when he thought Nicolai might have fallen asleep, he was nudged slightly, urged to roll unto his side. He did, and Nicolai’s arm tightened around his middle, drawing him back against him. The heat was almost too much. Almost. Not at all. It was perfect.

The arm around him bowed slightly so the hand could lie flat on his chest, right over his beating heart. Breath tickled the back of his neck.

“You lied,” said Fedya.

“What?” said Nicolai, and Fedya suppressed a shiver as his breath ran over his skin.

“You said your roommate had been with Hélène. You don’t have a roommate.”

Nicolai was silent for a moment. Then he muttered, “Sleep, Fedya.”

_Easy for you to say_ , he thought, biting his lips.

Nicolai didn’t move closer but merely held Fedya loosely against him. He could easily break free if he wanted.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep, and somehow, he did.

~*~

As soon as church ended, Fedya fled back to his room.

It was empty and didn’t smell like he had feared. He quickly went to take a shower and then found some clean clothes. The plain shirt he had borrowed from Nicolai was carefully folded and placed on his bed.

He dressed quickly and then fled the room, going to the only place he deemed safe. Balaga’s garage. It was empty, but it suited him just fine. He sat down on a stool and placed his face in his hands.

He didn’t understand what was going on anymore.

He didn’t know what was happening to him. And especially not when it came to Nicolai. He didn’t know the guy, except that he could swim like he was born to do it, and threw a punch like he meant it, whether he did or not.

And he confused Fedya. He was so… _caring_ wasn’t the right word. Maybe he was – no, he definitely was; Fedya just didn’t know if that was all there was to it.

He had pulled Fedya out of the pool, and while he understood why he did – and was thankful, perhaps – Nicolai had no reason to keep looking after Fedya. He had no reason to seek him out in the library or take him aside to talk to him, especially not since Fedya had punched him.

Why did he care at all?

They had spent nearly seven years at the same school and barely shared a single word. They were as different as two boys could be. Background, social status, money, future, hobbies. They had nothing in common, and Fedya wouldn’t have blinked twice if Nicolai had just let the pool incident been just that. An incident. He might even have thanked him.

But Nicolai had sought him out, asked about him, even after their fight. Fedya didn’t get it.

The nagging thought that Nicolai wanted something from him had from the start been lurking in the back of his mind. But what could he possibly want from Fedya?

He doubted Nicolai was naive enough to not know what went on with the club. He had heard about the fight after all. Hell, the whole school had heard about it. And the club was the most well-known secret of all.

Nicolai knew who Fedya was, what he did in his spare time. He knew the people he was with. If he wanted something from Fedya, he barely had to raise his voice to get it. He had plenty on Fedya.

The pool. The club. The fight.

And yet, he had asked Fedya if he was okay. He’d just asked and had no reason to. And then, in the locker room…

If that hadn’t happened, would last night have felt any different?

No doubt about it. If Nicolai hadn’t kissed him, Fedya would have merely thought he wanted to help him. Like he wanted to help after the pool.

But he had kissed him. They had slept in the same bed. Nicolai had held him all night.

Why had he kissed him? They had nothing in common. And who the hell got feelings for someone they saved from drowning?

He didn’t understand, and it was driving him crazy.

Maybe that was it. Maybe he was just crazy. Fucking insane.

He had to be, to still feel what he did for Anatole, even after seeing him with Natasha.

Who in their right mind would fuck a friend? Fall in love with a friend who clearly wanted someone else?

Anatole wanted Natasha. He’d wanted her since he saw her for the first time. Nothing Fedya had said or done had changed his mind, and in the end, he had even helped Anatole. He wrote the letter, didn’t he?

He had willingly walked into the fire, knowing it would burn him. And he would do it again and again until there was nothing left of him but ashes and charred bones.

He snorted at the image. Seemed like Anatole's tendency to be dramatic and poetic was contagious.

It was a fitting image, though. Anatole was like wildfire, hot and passionate, and totally out of control and without any regard for others. And just like fire, it wasn’t because he was mean. He merely followed a nature that just happened to hurt others.

Nicolai was the pure opposite. If Anatole was fire, then Nicolai was like the water he spent so much time swimming in.

“Fuck sake, you idiot,” he said to himself and straightened up. “Stop being so dramatic.” He looked around the garage. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the light. Long but narrow windows ran along the walls beneath the roof, sending in dull, grey light that didn’t reach the floor. This far north, the sun didn’t rise until around ten. It left them with barely six or seven hours of light in the winter months. Not that they used it. It was too cold outside anyway.

Now that he thought about it, Fedya felt how cold the garage was. It had seeped through his clothes, and he had barely noticed it. He got up and moved around, trying to get some feeling back into his cold body. He should have dressed warmer, but he hadn’t thought ahead. Like always.

Despite being cold and dark, the garage was pleasant to be in. Still, when he lost all feeling in his toes, he went back to his room, deciding to kill off some homework. He doubted the battle of waterloo would manage to distract him enough to take his mind off all this, but it was worth a shot.

However, he never got to Napoleon, for when he returned to his room, Anatole was sitting on his bed, holding the shirt Fedya had borrowed from Nicolai in his hands.

He looked up, and Fedya had never seen such a cold look in his eyes.

“So, you’re wearing his clothes now?”

“And a nice Sunday to you too,” muttered Fedya. He didn’t like how Anatole looked at him or the way he held the shirt too tightly in his hands.

Anatole laughed, and it sounded more like a growl. “Do you always wear the clothes of those you fuck?”

“Never wore yours.”

Anatole threw the shirt at him, and he caught it easily. He shook it out and then folded it carefully and put it on his desk. Anatole watched him like a hawk, eyes narrowing at the care he was giving the shirt. “He was that good then?”

“We slept,” said Fedya. “Nothing happened.”

“Oh, please!” said Anatole and got up. “You were wearing his shirt in church. I saw you leave his room.”

“So what?”

“You said you weren’t fucking him!” yelled Anatole.

“I’m not. We didn’t do anything. I was drunk, and he offered me to crash in his room.”

“What? Why didn’t you just come back here?”

_Because seeing you and Natasha together would kill me!_ he wanted to yell. “I was drunk off my ass. Couldn’t walk.”

“You could drink every bottle of vodka in the world and still be able to walk. I’ve seen you do it.”

“Yeah, well, not this time.” Fedya sat down by his desk and pulled his books towards him. Anatole grabbed his wrist, stopping him. He leaned in, and Fedya could smell the pomade in his hair. It was so familiar, so… linked to so many pleasurable times, he had to force himself not to drown in the memories.

Anatole’s fingers were cold against his skin and slowly tightening their grip. “Are you in love with him or something?”

Fedya felt the laughter crawl out his throat, unhappy and slightly tinted with madness. “In love with Nicolai?” Even his voice sounded somewhat mad. He stood up, pulling his arm free of Anatole’s grip. “You’re insane.”

“And you are fucking him!”

“Why do you even care? You’re with Natasha.”

Anatole looked slightly stunned. “Natasha?”

“Yeah,” said Fedya. “Your girlfriend, remember?” Anatole looked truly confused now.

“So?”

“So, why are you bothering me about Nicolai?”

“Why are you bringing up Natasha?”

Fedya laughed. “How can I not? She’s all you talk about.”

“Natasha’s got nothing to do with this,” said Anatole, and, yeah, he had no clue. Absolutely no clue. Fedya saw the genuine look of confusion on his face and felt the mad laughter threatening to crawl out of his throat again. He swallowed it down.

“Oh, really?” said Fedya, trying to control himself. “For once, she isn’t the center of the fucking universe?”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Anatole. “Why’re you so obsessed with Natasha?”

“ _I’m_ obsessed? It’s you who haven’t done anything but droll over her ever since she came here.”

“I love her!”

“No, you don’t!” yelled Fedya. “She’s just a shiny new toy you will get bored off eventually. Like everything else.”

Anatole’s face turned hard. “That’s not true. I love her.”

“You like playing with her.”

“That’s not true!”

“Yes, it is! You fuck her a few times, and then you’ll move on to the next whore who will spread her legs for you.”

The punch wasn’t hard, but it was enough to turn Fedya’s head to the side. His hand flew up to touch his lip, and red was smeared over the tip of a finger. He raised his eyes to Anatole, who was breathing hard, his face red with anger.

“Don’t call her that,” he hissed at Fedya, hand still clenched into a fist. It was trembling with anger.

Fedya stuck his tongue out and licked the blood from his lips. “No, you’re right,” he said, knowing very well he was crossing lines now. But like always, he didn’t care. “You’re the whore. She’s just a dumb slut.”

The second punch would have hurt if Anatole had managed to land it. But he screamed as he swung his fist, and Fedya had no trouble raising his arm to block it. He pushed Anatole back, and he came at him again, this time ramming his shoulder into Fedya’s stomach. With the wind knocked out of him, Fedya was pushed back and hit the closet hard with his shoulder. Anatole raised his fist. “Don’t call her that.”

Already winded, the punch sent Fedya to the floor, where he lay and began laughing.

“What?” he wheezed out. “Truth hurts or something?”

Anatole marched over, planting his feet on each side of Fedya, and then crouched down. He grabbed Fedya by the shirt with both hands and shook him. It made his head knock against the closet door, making him see stars before his eyes.

“Take it back!” Anatole yelled. “Take it back!”

“Fuck you!”

Fedya reached out and grabbed Anatole by the hair and pulled. Anatole screamed but didn’t let go. Instead, he turned his head and buried his teeth in Fedya’s arm, hard. With a yell, Fedya put his hand on Anatole’s forehead, trying to use both the grip on his hair and his face to pull him off. The teeth sank deeper into his arm.

Fedya yelled and released Anatole and then punched him in the face. He let go of Fedya’s bleeding arm and fell backward, landing on the floor beside Fedya, who kicked at him, hitting him in the side. Anatole howled. With clenched teeth, he crawled back to Fedya and grabbed him, his nails digging into whatever skin he could reach.

The door slammed open, and Fedya heard yelling and saw people run inside, but he didn’t care. He spat at Anatole, calling him every name he could think of, and tried to get to him even as hands grabbed his arms and held him back.

People were yelling his name, but all he could hear was Anatole screaming at him. All he could see was Anatole, with his blood-smeared lips and unruly hair. In a mad moment, Fedya felt a surge of triumph.

For once, Anatole didn’t look handsome.

Then he was pulled from the room and down the hall. All the way, he struggled and yelled, but the hands on him were unyielding.

Unceremoniously, he was shoved into a room he vaguely recognized as a teacher’s office. He was pushed into a chair and commanded to stay. Then the door slammed closed, and he was alone.

He screamed into his hands.

~*~

He spent the entire day at the office. Teachers came and went. The Headmistress talked to him, but he barely listened. He knew the decision before they told him.

He had to leave the school the following day.

He wasn’t allowed to attend dinner and instead had food sent to his room. He didn’t see Anatole. He spent the evening packing, stuffing his things into bags without care. There wasn’t much to pack. Uniforms and school books were borrowed, and he’d never had much to bring anyway.

Two bags held all his belongings, and when he was done, he lay on his bed and looked at the ceiling. This was it.

He was expelled.

The Headmistress herself had called his mother, and he didn’t even want to fight the guilt whelming up inside him. He no doubt deserved to be punished like this. The Headmistress had told him they knew about him sneaking around, but since his grades had improved, they had turned a blind eye. The fight, however, was the breaking point.

He didn’t really care, not right now, at least. But it would break his mother. There were only a few months left until he graduated, and he now he would never get the chance. The hope of a good job came from a good education, and now he had none.

There was still the military, but he had hoped to wait at least a year or two until joining. Now he might not have any choice. He would turn eighteen in less than a month, and then they would accept him. One month to spend with his family.

He sighed and put an arm over his eyes.

Maybe it was for the best. He’d always felt like he didn’t belong here. He didn’t fit with normal people. He was too violent, too selfish, too… _him_. Only Anatole and Hélèna had been able to stand his company, and he knew how rotten that had been in the end. He couldn’t be with ordinary people. The stupid fight with Pierre had proven that. And then the fight with Nicolai.

Fedya lifted his eyes and looked towards his desk. Nicolai’s shirt was still there. Shit, he had to return it. If he left it, Anatole might throw it out. He got up and grabbed it. He had been instructed to stay in his room, but what would they do if he didn’t? He was already expelled.

He walked down the hall to Nicolai’s room and knocked on the door. A moment went by before it opened.

“Fedya,” said Nicolai, sounding surprised. He looked at him closely, and Fedya remembered the black eye he had and the new bruises Anatole had given him.

“Hey,” said Fedya, his voice breaking on that small word. He looked down.

“So, it’s true then?” asked Nicolai. “You’re leaving.”

“Yeah,” said Fedya and nodded. He held out the shirt. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

Instead of taking the shirt, Nicolai grabbed Fedya’s wrist and pulled him into his room.

He led him to the bed and made him sit down, then he knelled before him and gently touched Fedya’s cheek.

“Did Kuragin really do this?”

Fedya nodded.

For a second, Nicolai looked furious, but it melted away just as quickly. “It’s no worse than what I did, I guess.”

Fedya didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know why he’d allowed himself to be pulled inside. He could see what Nicolai wanted, could see it in his eyes. He’d seen it so many times in Anatole’s, though it had never really been directed at him before.

Was it pathetic that he wanted it? To have eyes looking at him like that. To have a hand touch his cheek like that.

_Yes_ , whispered a voice in his head, but he ignored it and closed his eyes as Nicolai leaned in and kissed him.

Nicolai was everything Anatole wasn’t. Strong, caring, inexperienced, and Fedya enjoyed every second of it. After a bit of guidance, Nicolai took charge without being forceful and showered Fedya with the same kind of attention Anatole usually demanded. It was so strange and so welcomed, and when Fedya came, it was Nicolai’s name he moaned.

Afterward, he curled up beside Nicolai, who held him so tight it was like he feared he would disappear into thin air. A strong hand stroked him down the back, and he leaned into it like a cat.

“I’ll miss you,” whispered Nicolai.

“We’ve done nothing but fight,” muttered Fedya, enjoying how warm Nicolai was.

“Almost nothing,” said Nicolai. “But I mean it. Would like to know you better.”

“You really don’t,” said Fedya. “I’m not a good person.”

Nicolai didn’t say anything to that. Maybe he knew it was true. No matter what, it didn’t change the fact that Fedya had to leave. Not only Nicolai’s bed, but the school, and everything.

He always thought it would crush him. Leaving school meant saying goodbye to Anatole. But he didn’t have Anatole anymore.

_You act like this school is your entire world._

Yesterday he’d agreed with her. Now…

The school wasn’t his world. Anatole was, and now he’d lost him.

His world had ended, only before time and in a different way than he had expected.

A part of him couldn’t wait to leave.

~*~

The bus stopped with a screech, and Fedya reached out on instinct, so his head wasn’t smashed into the front window again. Balaga pulled the break and turned in his seat to look at him.

“Well, here we are, lad.”

Fedya looked out the greasy window at the train station. After three hours on the bus, he looked forward to getting out, but he wasn’t looking forward to getting on the train. Balaga helped him with the bags and even carried them inside the station. He didn’t have to, but it seemed like the driver was determined that Fedya found the right train.

After getting the right information – his train wouldn’t leave until another forty minutes – and buying a ticket, they stood on the platform. It was truly beginning to dawn on Fedya that he was leaving.

“So… I guess you’re going back then,” he said to Balaga, who eyed his outstretched hand and then shrugged.

“It can wait. Drive is three hours, no matter how long a wait here. What’re another forty minutes?”

It helped a little bit. They sat down, and Balaga bought them something to drink, and then they shifted between comfortable silence and casual talk. Balaga didn’t ask about the reason for his expulsion. He just commented on this and that or told a strange story from his mysterious past.

Fedya appreciated it, though the calm Balaga managed to lull him into disappeared the second he saw the train.

He was about to board when a hand grabbed his shoulder, and he was turned around to face Balaga, who, like always, didn’t waste time. “I’ll miss you, boy,” he said and pulled Fedya into a crushing hug. “Won’t be the same without you, you know. It just won’t.”

“I’ll miss you too,” said Fedya honestly and allowed himself to be held like that.

He hadn’t managed to say goodbye to all he wanted.

He had left Nicolai late last night, hoping to catch him before he had to go. But he’d left so early, no one else at school had been awake. As he was herded outside, he suspected the Headmistress wanted him gone so the other students couldn’t witness his departure.

That meant he didn’t get to see Nicolai, or Hélène… or Anatole. He didn’t get to see anyone, and when he realized that, he had pushed down all the emotions that had threatened to overwhelm him as the bus left the school ground.

Now, being hugged by Balaga, who he cared about and who apparently cared about him, he couldn’t hold it back anymore. He buried his face in Balaga’s lambskin coat, and just for a second, he let it out.

Balaga pretended not to notice and merely held him in what Fedya could only call a fatherly embrace, though he barely remembered what that felt like.

Finally, Balaga gently nudged him. “Better get on, or it’ll leave without you.”

It took more strength than he thought to let go of Balaga and board the train, but when he sat down in the seat, it felt all too easy to just let the train carry him away.

Balaga stood on the platform as the train began to move. He didn’t wave or anything, but he watched until Fedya’s compartment had long passed and was out of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave it to me to make the "there was only one bed" trope slightly depressing.   
> So, it's over. I'm not good at writing a happy ending, so at least this I can recognize as my own work. Still, I imagine Fedya actually being happy when he finally gets away from the school. In this story, Anatole is not good for him.   
> I like to think he finds someone like Nicolai in the military, and they end up in a good and healthy relationship. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and take care out there in the world!


End file.
